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In a quiet area of the city, an individual can be found outside his home, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and expressing his concerns. “I feel myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his only confidant, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying with the wind. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For those weary by the chaos and fast pace of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show developed by the writing duo, based on the author’s understated 2019 novel – takes a dim view toward today's world; looking skeptically through its spectacles toward anything related to loud sounds, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people content to amble along below the parapet. But. He (a further uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the openings within my world … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now feels doubting the decisions that directed him to this point (single; with a protective mustache; working on a range of educational volumes for an employer who ends emails saying “see you later”).

And so Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, guide and co-conspirator during their regular game night that serves both as debate (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The source of the moniker appears lost in mystery. It could be that Paul on one occasion consumed some food in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by nervously peeling some food items with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic colleague who happily suggests to kill his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program driven less by plot and more by what the under-30s might call “vibes”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Leading viewers amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Truly, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “Leonard's challenge is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that first reservations fade though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The series' spirit is in the right place: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that moves gently in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward into space, occasionally down toward the ground, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as cheering as being with dear pals.

Throw open the portals in your existence, a little, and let it in.