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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a person can be found outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I feel myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” says the protagonist, gazing up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Paul, his only confidant, reflects on this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Preferable to striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For those exhausted by the bluster and fast pace of today’s TV offerings, this series arrives similar to a cozy wrap and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its harmless protagonists, the series – a six-episode show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – takes a dim view on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly through its spectacles on everything related to disturbances, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. This show rather, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage of those happy to amble along out of the spotlight. And yet. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses a growing “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor away from his feet and this young man, a ghost writer, now feels questioning the choices that directed him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; working on several kids' reference books for a boss who ends emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard launches an exploration for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, life coach and ally in a recurring board games evening functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The source of this name seems forgotten in history. Perhaps the postal worker once ate a sandwich in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (the actress), a fresh energetic associate who happily suggests to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

In another part in the initial show of a series not heavily plotted and more on what a modern audience could describe as “vibes”, viewers encounter the older generation (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, records then replays daytime quiz shows to dazzle his devoted partner with his general knowledge.

Leading us throughout this subtle warmth is a narrator that sounds very much like – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the celebrity. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and phrases for example “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings yield though not complete approval, then at least acceptance.

Enough complaining for now. The show's core has good intentions: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” The program that ambles along in comfortable attire, occasionally looking up toward the sky, sometimes downward at its slippers, serenely certain that no experience is in the world as heartening as spending time in the company of close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.