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In a peaceful suburb of the city, an individual can be found outside his home, dressed in a tank top and sharing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. Less noticeable,” remarks the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and currently I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only and only friend, ponders this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he answers, his dressing gown flapping with the wind. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and ending up damaging things.”

For those weary by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show created by its authors, based on the novelist’s quiet story – looks disapprovingly at modern life; peering skeptically through its spectacles toward anything related to unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to amble along away from attention. And yet. Leonard (a further distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses an increasing “need to open the doors and windows within my world … slightly.” The recent death of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, a writer for others, now feels questioning the decisions which led him to where he is (single; sporting facial hair; working on a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who signs off correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (the actor) acting as his confidante, guide and co-conspirator 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 because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? It's unclear. The origin of this name seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening some food items by biting into them).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts Shelley (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic associate who lightheartedly proposes to eliminate his terrible supervisor (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement noticeable is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In another part in the initial show of this program driven less by plot and more on what younger viewers could describe as “vibes”, we meet the older generation (the ever-wonderful the actor), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches daytime quiz shows to impress his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and actually is – the famous actress. Yes, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts does a good job, and lines like “The issue with Leonard is the missing a ‘eureka’ face” help ensure that early misgivings yield though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is in the right place: the right place being “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its preferred bird.” The program that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking at its slippers, calmly assured that nothing is in life as uplifting as spending time alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.