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In a peaceful suburb of the city, a person stands on the pavement, dressed in a tank top and sharing his concerns. “It seems like myself getting quieter. More invisible,” says Leonard, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe unless I take action, my life will proceed in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, Leonard’s best and only friend, considers these words. “Nothing wrong with that,” he responds, his dressing gown moving in the breeze. “Better than striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For those weary by the bluster and fast pace of modern television terrain, this series comes as a cozy wrap and warming mug of a sweet cordial.

In line with its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode program developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s quiet story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; peering skeptically above its spectacles toward anything in the way of unnecessary noise, quick actions or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage to people happy to pootle around below the parapet. But. He (a further sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He notices an increasing “need to open the openings in my existence … just a bit.” The loss of his parent has yanked the floor out from under him and Leonard, a writer for others, now realizes doubting the paths that have brought him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; writing a range of children’s encyclopedias for a man who ends correspondence with the phrase “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard begins himself on a quest for emotional fulfilment, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (the actor) acting as his close companion, guide and partner during their regular game night functioning as both discussion (“Is the water heated due to children urinating, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and sanctuary.

(How did Paul get his nickname? No idea. The origin of this name is shrouded in history. Perhaps Paul previously devoured a sandwich in record time, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling some food items using his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a fresh energetic colleague who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (the actor) during the office fire drill. The swift movement audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine being turned upside down.

In another part in the first episode of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what the under-30s might call “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the performer), a battered sofa of a man who privately views, tapes and rewatches television game programs to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Leading us amidst this minor-key niceness there is a voiceover that sounds very much like – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “undoubtedly the presence of a big-name celebrity contradicts the program's low-key style and at first acts merely as a distraction?” you would be correct. Still, Roberts does a good job, and phrases for example “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: that place is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, indicating its favourite duck.” It’s a series that strolls leisurely in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as being in the company of dear pals.

Throw open the portals in your existence, slightly, and welcome it inside.