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In a calm suburb of the city, a man stands in his driveway, dressed in a vest and voicing his concerns. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” says the main character, looking into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe without a change, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his only companion, considers this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his robe swaying gently. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul comes like a warm cover with a hot drink of Ribena.

Similar to its gentle leads, this comedy – a half-dozen installment show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the author’s quiet book – casts a critical eye at modern life; peering critically through its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything related to unnecessary noise, quick actions or – goodness forbid – too much drive. The program rather, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration of those happy to wander away from attention. But. Leonard (one more uniquely quirky portrayal by the actor) is uneasy. He notices an increasing “need to open the entryways within my world … slightly.” The recent death of his parent has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, a ghost writer, now feels questioning the decisions that directed him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; creating multiple educational volumes for a man who concludes messages using the words “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular game night which acts as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The beginning of this name is shrouded in mystery. Maybe the postal worker once ate a sandwich unusually quickly, or answered to a tense moment by panic-peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life cartwheels a vibrant character (the performer), a recent lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of a series not heavily plotted and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “mood”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Shepherding us throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “certainly the use of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is that he lacks a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that initial doubts fade though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: which is “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as heartening as spending time alongside good friends.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, slightly, and let it in.