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In a quiet suburb of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a vest and sharing his thoughts. “I feel myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I believe unless I take action, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he replies, his robe swaying gently. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers exhausted by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of current streaming offerings, Leonard and Hungry Paul arrives similar to a foil blanket and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a six-part show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, inspired by the novelist’s quiet story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; peering critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything in the way of disturbances, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series rather, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage of those satisfied to pootle around away from attention. But. The character (another distinctly original performance by the actor) is uneasy. He notices a creeping “desire to unlock the openings of my life … a little.” The recent death of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and the 32-year-old, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the decisions which led him to this point (single; sporting facial hair; working on multiple children’s encyclopedias for a man who concludes emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard launches an exploration to find happiness, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his trusted friend, mentor and ally in a weekly game night that serves both as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do kids pee in it since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of the moniker appears lost in history. Maybe he previously devoured some food unusually quickly, or responded to an awkward situation by panic-peeling four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts Shelley (the actress), a new lively colleague who lightheartedly proposes to kill Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The swift movement you can hear represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In other scenes in the initial show of this program focused less on story and more on what the under-30s may refer to as “mood”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a tired character who covertly observes, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his adoring wife with his general knowledge.

Guiding the audience amidst this gentle kindness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Indeed, the star. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star is at odds with the show's modest approach and at first acts merely as an interruption?” you're right. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that initial doubts fade if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart has good intentions: that place is “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, at other times looking toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as passing time in the company of dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, just a bit, and welcome it inside.