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In a quiet area of the city, a man stands on the pavement, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. More invisible,” remarks the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently it seems without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest confidant, ponders this statement. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For anyone tired by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives like a warm cover and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on Rónán Hession’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; looking skeptically above its spectacles on everything related to disturbances, quick actions or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series rather, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage to people happy to wander out of the spotlight. However. The character (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from the star) feels restless. He senses an increasing “need to open the doors and windows within my world … a little.” The recent death of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and Leonard, a writer for others, now feels questioning the paths which led him to this point (alone; defensively moustached; writing a range of educational volumes for a man who ends emails saying “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard starts an exploration for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his confidante, mentor and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session which acts as discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of this name is shrouded to the mists of time. Maybe Paul once ate a snack unusually quickly, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening some food items using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a new colleague (the actress), a recent spring-loaded associate who lightheartedly proposes to kill the awful manager (the character) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise you can hear represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series driven less by plot and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “vibes”, viewers encounter the older generation (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us throughout this subtle warmth there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Yes, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “undoubtedly the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines like “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking at its feet, serenely certain that nothing is in life as uplifting as spending time in the company of good friends.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and let it in.