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In a quiet area of the city, a man stands in his driveway, wearing a tank top and sharing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” says the main character, gazing toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only confidant, considers the idea. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his bathrobe swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV terrain, the show steps in as a warm cover with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Like its gentle leads, this comedy – a half-dozen installment program written by its authors, adapted from the novelist’s subtle 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly at modern life; peering disapprovingly over its eyewear on everything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – too much drive. The series is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage for those satisfied to pootle around away from attention. And yet. The character (one more distinctly original performance from the star) feels restless. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways of my life … just a bit.” The recent death of his parent has pulled the carpet out from under him and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now finds himself doubting the decisions which led him to where he is (unattached; sporting facial hair; writing multiple kids' reference books for an employer who concludes messages using the words “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his close companion, guide and co-conspirator in a weekly game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. Maybe he once ate some food in record time, or reacted to a tense moment by panic-peeling four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic associate who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life experiencing a revolution.

In another part during the opening installment of this program not heavily plotted and centered around what the under-30s could describe as “mood”, viewers encounter the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers through all this subtle warmth there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “surely the use of such a famous actor contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you're right. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: which is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its preferred bird.” This is a show that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that nothing is in the world as cheering as passing time with good friends.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and allow it entry.