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In a calm neighborhood of the city, a man is standing on the pavement, sporting a vest and voicing his feelings. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and currently I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest confidant, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his bathrobe swaying with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers exhausted by the bluster and fast pace of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-episode comedy created by the writing duo, inspired by the novelist’s understated book – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; peering skeptically above its eyewear on everything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration of those content to wander below the parapet. And yet. He (another uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … a little.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and this young man, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the decisions which led him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; writing several educational volumes for a man who ends correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and partner during their regular gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The beginning of this name seems forgotten in history. Maybe the postal worker previously devoured a snack in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of the comedy driven less by plot and more by what younger viewers may refer to as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading viewers amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor is at odds with the program's low-key style and starts off as just an interruption?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and phrases such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations yield though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, sometimes downward at its feet, calmly assured that there is nothing on Earth as uplifting as being in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.