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In a calm suburb of the city, a person stands on the pavement, wearing a vest and voicing his thoughts. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” says the main character, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and now it seems if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, ponders the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the bluster and constant stimulation of today’s TV offerings, the show steps in similar to a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part program written by its authors, adapted from the novelist’s quiet book – casts a critical eye at modern life; peering disapprovingly over its eyewear at anything related to loud sounds, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage to people satisfied to amble along out of the spotlight. However. The character (another distinctly original turn by the actor) is unsettled. He senses an increasing “need to open the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The loss of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now feels doubting the choices that have brought him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; working on multiple children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off emails using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and co-conspirator during their regular board games evening functioning as both symposium (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The source of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate a sandwich very fast, or answered to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling some food items using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a fresh spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to kill his terrible supervisor (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise audible represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of a series focused less on story and more by what a modern audience might call “vibes”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Shepherding us through all this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “surely the presence of such a famous actor contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations give way if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. The show's core has good intentions: that place is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down at its feet, calmly assured that no experience is in the world as heartening as passing time alongside dear pals.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, slightly, and let it in.