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In a quiet area of the city, a man stands outside his home, dressed in a tank top and sharing his feelings. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” remarks the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his closest companion, reflects on these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his robe swaying with the wind. “Preferable to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone tired by the chaos and constant stimulation of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes similar to a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a six-episode program written by its authors, inspired by the author’s subtle book – looks disapprovingly at modern life; peering disapprovingly over its spectacles toward anything that involves loud sounds, quick actions or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those satisfied to amble along below the parapet. However. The character (one more distinctly original performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels a creeping “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the choices that directed him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; writing multiple kids' reference books for a man who signs off correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard launches an exploration for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the actor) functioning as his close companion, mentor and partner in a weekly game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The source of the nickname appears lost in mystery. It could be that Paul previously devoured some food very fast, or responded to a tense moment by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a new colleague (the performer), a recent energetic colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the character) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes during the opening installment of the comedy focused less on story and more by what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great the actor), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches television game programs to dazzle his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading the audience throughout this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the inclusion of such a famous actor is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, pointing out its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is on Earth as heartening as passing time alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and let it in.