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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, an individual can be found in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and sharing his concerns. “I notice my voice is fading. More invisible,” remarks the main character, gazing toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and now I believe without a change, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his dressing gown moving gently. “Preferable to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the bluster and constant stimulation of current streaming landscape, the show comes similar to a warm cover and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a six-part program written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the author’s understated story – looks disapprovingly at modern life; gazing skeptically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything that involves unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The program is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people happy to wander below the parapet. But. He (a further distinctly original turn from the star) feels restless. He feels a growing “need to open the entryways within my world … a little.” The loss of his mother has yanked the floor out from under him and this young man, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the choices which led him to his current situation (single; with a protective mustache; creating multiple educational volumes for a boss who concludes emails using the words “see you later”).

And so Leonard launches himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his close companion, guide and partner in a recurring gaming session functioning as both discussion (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The source of the nickname is shrouded to the mists of time. It could be that he once ate a snack in record time, or reacted to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts Shelley (the performer), a new lively co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise audible is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part in the first episode of this program driven less by plot and more on what the under-30s might call “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews trivia competitions to dazzle his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Guiding the audience throughout this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Yes, the star. If you are thinking, “surely the use of such a famous actor contradicts the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a distraction?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines for example “The issue with Leonard is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings yield though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining for now. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in life as heartening as passing time in the company of dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and welcome it inside.