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In a peaceful suburb of the city, a person stands outside his home, sporting a vest and voicing his feelings. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the protagonist, gazing toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I believe if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best companion, considers these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe moving with the wind. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers exhausted by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming landscape, this series steps in as a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its gentle leads, this comedy – a six-part comedy written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; peering skeptically above its eyewear at anything in the way of loud sounds, quick actions or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program rather, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. The character (one more distinctly original portrayal from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He senses an increasing “need to open the openings of my life … a little.” The passing of his beloved mother has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself questioning the decisions which led him to where he is (single; sporting facial hair; creating a range of educational volumes for a man who concludes emails saying “see you later”).

Therefore Leonard begins an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Paul (the performer) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and partner in a recurring game night that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The origin of the moniker appears lost in history. It could be that the postal worker once ate a snack in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh lively colleague who cheerily offers to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the initial show of a series driven less by plot and more on what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the consistently great the performer), a worn-out individual who secretly watches, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to dazzle his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Guiding viewers amidst this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, Julia Roberts. If you are thinking, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and starts off as just an interruption?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. The series' spirit is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that strolls leisurely in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as cheering as passing time alongside close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, slightly, and let it in.