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In a quiet suburb of the city, a person is standing outside his home, dressed in a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” states the protagonist, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping with the wind. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the noise and fast pace of current streaming terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part program created by its authors, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated book – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering disapprovingly through its spectacles toward anything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – too much drive. This show is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration for those happy to pootle around away from attention. And yet. Leonard (one more distinctly original portrayal by the actor) feels restless. He feels a growing “urge to throw open the openings in my existence … slightly.” The loss of his parent has whisked the rug out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the choices which led him to where he is (alone; with a protective mustache; working on several children’s encyclopedias for an employer who concludes emails with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard begins himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, life coach and partner in a recurring game night that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of this name seems forgotten to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul once ate a snack very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a new colleague (the performer), a fresh energetic associate who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise you can hear represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what younger viewers might call “mood”, we meet the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to impress his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience through all this gentle kindness we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the star. Should you wonder, “certainly the presence of a major Hollywood star clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a distraction?” that's accurate. Still, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings yield if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward at its slippers, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as cheering as passing time with close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, a little, and welcome it inside.