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In a calm area of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a vest and voicing his concerns. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the main character, staring into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only and only friend, ponders this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone exhausted by the bluster and constant stimulation of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a foil blanket with a hot drink of Ribena.

Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a six-part comedy written by its authors, adapted from Rónán Hession’s quiet story – takes a dim view at modern life; looking skeptically above its eyewear on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. The character (a further sublimely idiosyncratic performance from the star) feels restless. He senses an increasing “desire to unlock the openings within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has yanked the floor out from under him and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now finds himself reconsidering the choices that directed him to this point (single; defensively moustached; working on a range of educational volumes for a man who concludes correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, mentor and partner in a weekly board games evening that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. It could be that he on one occasion consumed some food very fast, or reacted to an awkward situation by panic-peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (the performer), a new lively associate who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the first episode of this program focused less on story and more by what younger viewers could describe as “atmosphere”, viewers encounter the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the program's low-key style and starts off as just a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue like “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its preferred bird.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, occasionally down at its feet, quietly confident that there is nothing in life as cheering as passing time with dear pals.

Unlock the entryways within your world, a little, and let it in.