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In a peaceful suburb of the city, an individual can be found outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and sharing his feelings. “I notice my voice is fading. Harder to see,” states the main character, looking up at the night sky. “Circumstances have evolved and now it seems unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best companion, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying in the breeze. “Better than trying to make a mark only to wind up defacing it.”

For those tired by the bluster and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, the show comes like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its quiet characters, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-episode show created by the writing duo, inspired by the novelist’s quiet book – takes a dim view on contemporary society; looking skeptically above its eyewear toward anything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The program rather, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute to people satisfied to pootle around below the parapet. However. He (another sublimely idiosyncratic performance from the star) is unsettled. He senses a creeping “urge to throw open the doors and windows within my world … slightly.” The recent death of his beloved mother has whisked the rug out from under him and Leonard, a writer for others, now finds himself questioning the decisions which led him to his current situation (alone; sporting facial hair; working on multiple children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off correspondence using the words “ciao for now”).

Thus Leonard starts an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, mentor and co-conspirator during their regular board games evening that serves both as symposium (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The source of the nickname is shrouded in mystery. It could be that he once ate some food in record time, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a vibrant character (the actress), a fresh lively associate who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise you can hear represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

Elsewhere during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and more on what younger viewers might call “vibes”, viewers encounter the older generation (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, records then replays trivia competitions to dazzle his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading viewers through all this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and actually is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. In case you're considering, “certainly the use of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as an interruption?” you're right. However, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that first reservations fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: which is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” The program that moves gently in its sleeveless jumper, at times staring into space, sometimes downward toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing in life as cheering as spending time alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways in your existence, slightly, and let it in.