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In a calm area of the city, an individual stands on the pavement, sporting a vest and expressing his feelings. “I notice my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” says the main character, looking toward the stars. “One thing’s led to another and at this point I believe without a change, I will continue in this minor, harmless existence.” His friend Paul, his closest confidant, reflects on these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe moving with the wind. “Better than trying to make a mark and causing harm instead.”

For those tired by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of current streaming terrain, this series comes similar to a foil blanket and a comforting beverage of Ribena.

Similar to its quiet characters, the series – a six-part program developed by its authors, based on the novelist’s understated 2019 novel – casts a critical eye toward today's world; gazing critically over its prematurely middle-aged glasses toward anything that involves unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – too much drive. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a quiet celebration of those happy to pootle around out of the spotlight. And yet. He (another sublimely idiosyncratic performance by the actor) feels restless. He feels an increasing “urge to throw open the doors and windows in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and this young man, a writer for others, now finds himself reconsidering the paths which led him to where he is (single; defensively moustached; creating several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who concludes correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

And so Leonard starts an exploration for personal satisfaction, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, mentor and partner in a recurring gaming session that serves both as debate (“Is the pool warm from kids relieving themselves, or do kids pee in it because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? No idea. The beginning of the nickname is shrouded in history. Perhaps Paul previously devoured a sandwich unusually quickly, or reacted to an awkward situation by nervously peeling four scotch eggs by biting into them).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a new colleague (the actress), a new lively associate who happily suggests to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The rushing noise you can hear signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In other scenes in the initial show of a series focused less on story and more by what younger viewers may refer to as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to the older generation (the consistently great Lorcan Cranitch), a tired character who secretly watches, saves and reviews television game programs to impress his adoring wife using his trivia skills.

Leading us amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. In case you're considering, “certainly the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and at first acts merely as a diversion?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts does a good job, and lines for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” help ensure that first reservations fade if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: which is “sitting on a park bench alongside similar shows, indicating its favourite duck.” This is a show that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, occasionally down at its slippers, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as passing time with dear pals.

Open the doors and windows within your world, slightly, and allow it entry.