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In a quiet neighborhood of the Irish capital, a person stands on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and expressing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” says the protagonist, staring toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his closest confidant, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Preferable to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, this series comes like a foil blanket and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Like its quiet characters, the series – a half-dozen installment program created by the writing duo, adapted from Rónán Hession’s understated story – takes a dim view at modern life; peering critically above its eyewear at anything related to loud sounds, quick actions or – perish the thought – too much drive. This show rather, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those satisfied to pootle around below the parapet. However. The character (one more distinctly original turn by the actor) is unsettled. He senses a creeping “urge to throw open the openings of my life … just a bit.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now finds himself reconsidering the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (single; defensively moustached; working on multiple educational volumes for a boss who signs off correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey to find happiness, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, mentor and ally in a weekly gaming session functioning as both symposium (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname seems forgotten in history. Maybe the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (the actress), a recent energetic co-worker who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the brilliant the actor), a tired character who privately views, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to amaze his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Guiding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and truly is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “surely the inclusion of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that first reservations give way if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining currently. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing its favourite duck.” The program that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, occasionally down toward the ground, calmly assured that no experience is in life as cheering as passing time alongside close companions.

Open the doors and windows of your life, slightly, and allow it entry.