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In a quiet neighborhood of the city, a man stands outside his home, sporting a vest and expressing his feelings. “I feel my voice is fading. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and currently I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe swaying gently. “Better than attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For those exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in as a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a half-dozen installment comedy written by its authors, based on the novelist’s understated 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; gazing disapprovingly through its eyewear on everything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series rather, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage of those content to pootle around away from attention. But. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now realizes questioning the choices that directed him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; creating several kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard launches on a journey for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and ally during their regular game night which acts as discussion (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of the moniker is shrouded in history. Maybe Paul previously devoured a sandwich in record time, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a new colleague (the performer), a new spring-loaded associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. The swift movement noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Guiding viewers amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and, indeed, very much is – the famous actress. Yes, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of a big-name celebrity contradicts the program's low-key style and starts off as just an interruption?” that's accurate. However, Roberts does a good job, and lines such as “Leonard’s problem is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings give way if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “resting on a bench alongside similar shows, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking at its slippers, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as heartening as passing time with good friends.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and allow it entry.