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In a quiet suburb of the city, a man is standing outside his home, sporting a vest and expressing his feelings. “It seems like I'm becoming more silent. More invisible,” says the main character, staring into the darkness. “One thing’s led to another and currently it seems without a change, I will continue in this quiet, unremarkable life.” Paul, his only confidant, ponders this statement. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his dressing gown swaying gently. “Better than striving for recognition and ending up damaging things.”

For viewers tired by the chaos and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV offerings, this series comes like a cozy wrap and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Like its quiet characters, this comedy – a half-dozen installment comedy developed by the writing duo, adapted from the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – looks disapprovingly at modern life; peering skeptically above its spectacles on everything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – goodness forbid – an abundance of ambition. The series rather, a tribute to quiet people; a gentle tribute of those happy to wander away from attention. And yet. Leonard (one more sublimely idiosyncratic turn from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels a growing “need to open the openings within my world … just a bit.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself questioning the paths which led him to where he is (unattached; defensively moustached; working on a range of kids' reference books for a boss who signs off emails using the words “goodbye for now”).

Therefore Leonard begins an exploration for emotional fulfilment, accompanied by the somewhat braver Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his trusted friend, mentor and ally in a weekly gaming session functioning as both debate (“Is the pool warm because kids pee in it, or is it that kids pee as it's heated?”) and safe space.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? The reason is unknown. The origin of the nickname seems forgotten in mystery. Perhaps Paul once ate a snack unusually quickly, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by panic-peeling some food items by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world cartwheels a vibrant character (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a new spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) in a workplace safety exercise. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine experiencing a revolution.

Elsewhere in the first episode of a series driven less by plot and centered around what the under-30s might call “mood”, viewers encounter Paul's father (the brilliant the performer), a tired character who covertly observes, records then replays television game programs to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Guiding us through all this minor-key niceness is a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the famous actress. Truly, the star. In case you're considering, “certainly the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just a diversion?” you would be correct. Nevertheless, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines such as “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks a look of sudden insight” help ensure that early misgivings fade if not full admiration, then at minimum tolerance.

Enough complaining for now. The show's core is well-intentioned: which is “resting on a bench in the company of gentle comedies, showing its preferred bird.” This is a show that ambles along in comfortable attire, at times staring at the stars, occasionally down at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is in the world as uplifting as being alongside dear pals.

Throw open the portals within your world, just a bit, and allow it entry.