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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a man is standing outside his home, dressed in a tank top and sharing his concerns. “I feel myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says the protagonist, gazing into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, Leonard’s best companion, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his dressing gown flapping with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone exhausted by the noise and constant stimulation of current streaming terrain, the show comes similar to a cozy wrap and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its gentle leads, the series – a half-dozen installment comedy created by its authors, inspired by the author’s understated story – looks disapprovingly at modern life; looking skeptically through its spectacles on everything that involves unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – too much drive. The series on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute of those content to amble along away from attention. However. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He feels an increasing “need to open the doors and windows of my life … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has yanked the floor out from under him and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the paths that directed him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off correspondence with the phrase “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard launches on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a weekly game night which acts as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The origin of the nickname is shrouded in history. Maybe the postal worker once ate a snack unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh spring-loaded colleague who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise you can hear represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to dazzle his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Guiding us amidst this subtle warmth we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the famous actress. Yes, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the presence of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” This is a show that moves gently in comfortable attire, at times staring into space, at other times looking at its feet, calmly assured that no experience is in life as heartening as being in the company of good friends.

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