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In a peaceful suburb of the city, an individual is standing outside his home, sporting a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. Harder to see,” remarks Leonard, staring into the darkness. “Circumstances have evolved and now it seems without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” Hungry Paul, his closest confidant, reflects on this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying in the breeze. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For viewers exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of modern television terrain, the show arrives like a warm cover with a hot drink of Ribena.

In line with its gentle leads, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s subtle book – casts a critical eye toward today's world; looking critically over its eyewear on everything that involves loud sounds, sudden movements or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute of those content to wander below the parapet. However. He (another uniquely quirky turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a growing “desire to unlock the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his mother has yanked the floor away from his feet and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now realizes reconsidering the choices which led him to this point (single; defensively moustached; creating several kids' reference books for an employer who concludes messages with the phrase “see you later”).

And so Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Paul (the performer) functioning as his close companion, guide and co-conspirator in a recurring gaming session which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The beginning of the moniker is shrouded in history. Perhaps the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or answered to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening some food items with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels Shelley (the performer), a recent spring-loaded associate who cheerily offers to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise noticeable signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy not heavily plotted and centered around what younger viewers could describe as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the consistently great the actor), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews trivia competitions to impress his devoted partner using his trivia skills.

Shepherding us amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. In case you're considering, “certainly the inclusion of such a famous actor clashes with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a diversion?” you're right. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: the right place being “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, pointing out the duck it loves.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up toward the sky, at other times looking at its feet, quietly confident that nothing is in the world as cheering as passing time alongside close companions.

Unlock the entryways within your world, slightly, and let it in.