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In a quiet neighborhood of the city, an individual stands in his driveway, sporting a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “I feel my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like if I don’t do something, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying with the wind. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, the show steps in similar to a foil blanket and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part program written by the writing duo, based on the author’s understated story – takes a dim view on contemporary society; gazing critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a quiet celebration of those content to pootle around away from attention. However. The character (another uniquely quirky portrayal by the actor) is uneasy. He feels a creeping “urge to throw open the openings in my existence … a little.” The recent death of his parent has yanked the floor from under his slippers and Leonard, a ghost writer, now realizes reconsidering the paths that have brought him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; working on a range of children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (the performer) serving as his confidante, life coach and partner in a recurring board games evening that serves both as debate (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or is it that kids pee since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The beginning of the nickname appears lost in mystery. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed a sandwich very fast, or reacted to a tense moment by panic-peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh spring-loaded colleague who cheerily offers to eliminate his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of this program driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience might call “mood”, we are introduced to the older generation (the ever-wonderful the performer), a worn-out individual who privately views, records then replays television game programs to dazzle his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Leading us amidst this gentle kindness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, Julia Roberts. In case you're considering, “surely the presence of such a famous actor contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you would be correct. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue such as “Leonard's challenge is his absence of a ‘eureka’ face” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “located on a seat alongside similar shows, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, at times staring into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that no experience is in life as heartening as being with close companions.

Throw open the portals within your world, slightly, and let it in.