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In a peaceful neighborhood of Dublin, an individual stands in his driveway, dressed in a vest and voicing his concerns. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says Leonard, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I feel like without a change, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For viewers tired by the chaos and constant stimulation of current streaming landscape, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives as a cozy wrap and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Like its harmless protagonists, this comedy – a six-part program created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by Rónán Hession’s subtle 2019 novel – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking skeptically above its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything in the way of disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. This show on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute for those content to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from the star) feels restless. He notices a creeping “need to open the entryways within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has pulled the carpet away from his feet and this young man, a writer for others, now finds himself doubting the choices which led him to this point (unattached; sporting facial hair; working on several children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes correspondence saying “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, guide and co-conspirator in a weekly board games evening which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The origin of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Maybe the postal worker once ate a sandwich very fast, or reacted to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts Shelley (the actress), a recent spring-loaded associate who happily suggests to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) during the office fire drill. That whooshing sound you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere in the initial show of this program focused less on story and centered around what a modern audience may refer to as “mood”, we meet Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the performer), a worn-out individual who covertly observes, records then replays daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator who closely resembles – and truly is – the famous actress. Yes, the star. Should you wonder, “certainly the presence of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard's challenge is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts yield if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

Enough complaining for now. The series' spirit has good intentions: which is “sitting on a park bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing the duck it loves.” This is a show that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up toward the sky, sometimes downward at its feet, calmly assured that nothing is on Earth as heartening as being in the company of close companions.

Unlock the entryways of your life, just a bit, and let it in.