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In a quiet suburb of the city, a man can be found outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and expressing his concerns. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks Leonard, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe without a change, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his robe flapping gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the bluster and fast pace of current streaming landscape, the show comes like a foil blanket and warming mug of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part comedy developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s understated story – takes a dim view at modern life; peering disapprovingly above its spectacles toward anything related to disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. But. The character (one more distinctly original turn from the star) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the decisions which led him to his current situation (single; defensively moustached; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who ends messages using the words “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (the actor) functioning as his confidante, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session functioning as both discussion (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname seems forgotten in history. Maybe the postal worker once ate some food very fast, or answered to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (the performer), a new spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of this program driven less by plot and more on what younger viewers could describe as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, records then replays television game programs to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Shepherding us through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of such a famous actor clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and lines such as “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” The program that strolls leisurely wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward at its feet, quietly confident that no experience is on Earth as cheering as being with good friends.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, a little, and allow it entry.