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In a calm area of Dublin, a man is standing on the pavement, wearing a vest and expressing his concerns. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like without a change, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest confidant, reflects on the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his robe moving with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television offerings, the show arrives like a cozy wrap and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Like its gentle leads, the series – a half-dozen installment show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s subtle story – casts a critical eye at modern life; peering skeptically through its eyewear toward anything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – too much drive. This show rather, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration of those content to pootle around away from attention. But. He (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is uneasy. He notices a creeping “desire to unlock the doors and windows in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself reconsidering the choices which led him to where he is (single; sporting facial hair; creating a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who ends messages with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring board games evening that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of this name is shrouded in mystery. Maybe Paul on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life comes a vibrant character (the performer), a recent energetic colleague who cheerily offers to eliminate his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience amidst this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is his absence of an expression of discovery” help ensure that initial doubts fade if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down toward the ground, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as uplifting as passing time in the company of dear pals.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and welcome it inside.