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In a calm neighborhood of the city, a person stands on the pavement, wearing a tank top and voicing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” states Leonard, looking up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I feel like if I don’t do something, my life will proceed in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only companion, considers the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe moving with the wind. “Preferable to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For viewers weary by the noise and fast pace of today’s TV terrain, the show steps in like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode show written by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from Rónán Hession’s subtle book – casts a critical eye at modern life; looking disapprovingly over its eyewear toward anything related to loud sounds, quick actions or – perish the thought – excessive aspiration. The program rather, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage for those satisfied to amble along away from attention. And yet. He (one more sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He notices a creeping “urge to throw open the openings of my life … just a bit.” The loss of his beloved mother has pulled the carpet out from under him and this young man, a writer for others, now feels doubting the decisions that have brought him to his current situation (alone; with a protective mustache; creating several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who concludes emails with the phrase “see you later”).

Thus Leonard begins an exploration for personal satisfaction, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his trusted friend, life coach and ally in a weekly board games evening that serves both as debate (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The source of the moniker seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps he on one occasion consumed a snack in record time, or responded to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts Shelley (the actress), a recent energetic associate who happily suggests to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes during the opening installment of a series focused less on story and more on what younger viewers might call “mood”, we are introduced to Hungry Paul’s dad (the ever-wonderful Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and truly is – the famous actress. Yes, the star. In case you're considering, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity is at odds with the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue such as “The issue with Leonard is his absence of a look of sudden insight” contribute to ensuring that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then at minimum tolerance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, indicating the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, at times staring at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that nothing is in the world as uplifting as being alongside good friends.

Unlock the entryways within your world, just a bit, and let it in.