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In a peaceful area of Dublin, an individual is standing outside his home, wearing a vest and expressing his concerns. “I feel myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” remarks the protagonist, staring up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and now I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, ponders the idea. “There's no harm in that,” he answers, his robe flapping gently. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For anyone exhausted by the chaos and constant stimulation of modern television landscape, the show steps in as a warm cover and warming mug of blackcurrant juice.

Like its gentle leads, the series – a half-dozen installment program created by its authors, based on Rónán Hession’s subtle book – casts a critical eye on contemporary society; looking critically through its eyewear at anything that involves disturbances, sudden movements or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, a tribute to quiet people; a subtle homage to people happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. However. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn by the actor) is uneasy. He notices a creeping “urge to throw open the entryways in my existence … slightly.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug from under his slippers and this young man, a writer for others, now feels questioning the choices that directed him to where he is (unattached; with a protective mustache; writing a range of educational volumes for an employer who ends correspondence with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard launches an exploration to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his close companion, guide and partner in a recurring game night functioning as both symposium (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The source of this name appears lost in history. Perhaps he once ate a sandwich in record time, or answered to a tense moment by panic-peeling several snacks using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded co-worker who cheerily offers to get rid of the awful manager (the actor) in a workplace safety exercise. The rushing noise audible represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

In another part in the first episode of this program not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience might call “atmosphere”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant Lorcan Cranitch), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his loving spouse through his fact recall.

Leading the audience amidst this gentle kindness there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Truly, the celebrity. In case you're considering, “undoubtedly the use of a major Hollywood star contradicts the program's low-key style and initially serves only as a distraction?” you would be correct. However, the actress performs admirably, and phrases such as “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” help ensure that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

No more criticism currently. The show's core is in the right place: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up toward the sky, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that no experience is in life as cheering as spending time alongside good friends.

Throw open the portals of your life, a little, and allow it entry.