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In a peaceful suburb of the city, a man is standing outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and expressing his concerns. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” states the main character, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and currently it seems without a change, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only confidant, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his bathrobe swaying gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers tired by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, this series steps in similar to a warm cover and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s quiet story – takes a dim view toward today's world; peering critically above its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything in the way of unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. Leonard (a further distinctly original performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a growing “urge to throw open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the decisions that directed him to this point (alone; sporting facial hair; writing several educational volumes for an employer who concludes messages with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) serving as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular gaming session which acts as debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of the moniker appears lost in history. Perhaps Paul once ate a sandwich very fast, or answered to an awkward situation by panic-peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a vibrant character (the performer), a recent spring-loaded colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the first episode of the comedy focused less on story and centered around what younger viewers might call “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Guiding viewers through all this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of such a famous actor is at odds with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines for example “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks an expression of discovery” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts give way if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The series' spirit has good intentions: that place is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” The program that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that nothing is in life as heartening as passing time in the company of close companions.

Unlock the entryways within your world, slightly, and welcome it inside.