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In a peaceful suburb of Dublin, a man stands on the pavement, dressed in a vest and expressing his feelings. “I feel I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” states Leonard, staring up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his dressing gown flapping with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming landscape, this series steps in similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its gentle leads, the series – a six-episode program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s subtle book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering critically through its eyewear at anything that involves loud sounds, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a quiet celebration to people satisfied to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. He (one more uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a growing “need to open the entryways of my life … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself questioning the paths that directed him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; working on multiple kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, mentor and co-conspirator in a weekly game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. Perhaps Paul once ate a sandwich in record time, or answered to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new lively colleague who cheerily offers to eliminate the awful manager (the actor) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise noticeable represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere in the initial show of this program not heavily plotted and more on what a modern audience could describe as “mood”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a tired character who covertly observes, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience through all this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and, indeed, very much is – Julia Roberts. Indeed, the star. In case you're considering, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as an interruption?” you're right. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is the missing a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining currently. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, serenely certain that nothing is in the world as heartening as passing time alongside good friends.

Open the doors and windows within your world, just a bit, and let it in.