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In a calm area of Dublin, a person can be found in his driveway, sporting a tank top and voicing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his dressing gown flapping in the breeze. “Superior to striving for recognition only to wind up defacing it.”

For those weary by the noise and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, the show steps in as a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part show written by the writing duo, inspired by the author’s quiet book – looks disapprovingly on contemporary society; peering disapprovingly above its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything in the way of loud sounds, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – too much drive. The program rather, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices an increasing “desire to unlock the doors and windows within my world … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug from under his slippers and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now feels reconsidering the decisions which led him to this point (alone; defensively moustached; working on several kids' reference books for a boss who ends emails saying “ciao for now”).

Therefore Leonard starts an exploration to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver friend Paul (the performer) acting as his close companion, guide and ally during their regular gaming session that serves both as symposium (“Is the water heated because kids pee in it, 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 to the mists of time. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by hastily opening four scotch eggs using his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a new colleague (the performer), a new spring-loaded associate who cheerily offers to kill the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the initial show of the comedy focused less on story and more on what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to dazzle his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Guiding the audience amidst this minor-key niceness is a narrator who closely resembles – and, indeed, very much is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the presence of such a famous actor is at odds with the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and dialogue like “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that first reservations fade though not complete approval, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining currently. The series' spirit has good intentions: that place is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, pointing out its preferred bird.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, occasionally down at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as cheering as spending time with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, slightly, and let it in.