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In a peaceful area of the Irish capital, a person stands on the pavement, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the protagonist, gazing up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his bathrobe flapping in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For those tired by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming landscape, this series comes as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its harmless protagonists, the series – a half-dozen installment comedy written by the writing duo, based on the author’s quiet book – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing disapprovingly over its eyewear on everything that involves unnecessary noise, quick actions or – heaven forfend – an abundance of ambition. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people content to amble along away from attention. However. He (one more distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the entryways in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a ghost writer, now feels reconsidering the choices that directed him to his current situation (alone; defensively moustached; writing multiple kids' reference books for an employer who concludes correspondence saying “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard begins an exploration to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his trusted friend, mentor and ally in a recurring board games evening that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The origin of this name is shrouded in mystery. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent spring-loaded colleague who happily suggests to get rid of his terrible supervisor (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and more on what a modern audience might call “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the actor), a tired character who privately views, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Shepherding viewers throughout this subtle warmth there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings give way though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as cheering as spending time alongside dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, just a bit, and welcome it inside.