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In a calm neighborhood of the city, a person is standing in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “I notice I'm becoming more silent. Harder to see,” states the main character, staring toward the stars. “Events have unfolded and now I believe if I don’t do something, I will continue in this simple, peaceful routine.” Hungry Paul, his closest and only friend, reflects on the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe swaying with the wind. “Superior to trying to make a mark and ending up damaging things.”

For those tired by the noise and constant stimulation of today’s TV landscape, this series steps in as a foil blanket with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

In line with its quiet characters, this comedy – a six-part show created by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, based on the novelist’s understated story – looks disapprovingly toward today's world; looking critically over its eyewear on everything in the way of unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – excessive aspiration. This show on the contrary, a celebration of shyness; a subtle homage to people satisfied to pootle around away from attention. But. Leonard (a further uniquely quirky portrayal from the star) is unsettled. He feels a creeping “urge to throw open the openings of my life … a little.” The passing of his parent has whisked the rug away from his feet and Leonard, a ghost writer, now finds himself reconsidering the decisions that have brought him to this point (unattached; with a protective mustache; creating several kids' reference books for a boss who ends correspondence saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest to find happiness, alongside his more outgoing Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his close companion, mentor and ally in a recurring board games evening that serves both as discussion (“Is the water heated from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate because it’s warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The source of the moniker appears lost in history. It could be that Paul on one occasion consumed a sandwich in record time, or responded to a tense moment by hastily opening several snacks by biting into them).

Into Leonard’s gentle world comes a vibrant character (the performer), a recent lively co-worker who cheerily offers to eliminate the awful manager (Paul Reid) at a fire practice. The swift movement audible is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In other scenes in the first episode of the comedy focused less on story and centered around what a modern audience could describe as “atmosphere”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great the performer), a tired character who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to dazzle his loving spouse using his trivia skills.

Leading the audience throughout this minor-key niceness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the famous actress. Indeed, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “surely the use of a big-name celebrity clashes with the show's modest approach and starts off as just a distraction?” that's accurate. Nevertheless, the actress performs admirably, and lines like “Leonard’s problem is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings yield if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

No more criticism for now. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is in the right place: the right place being “located on a seat in the company of gentle comedies, showing its favourite duck.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, occasionally looking up into space, sometimes downward at its feet, serenely certain that there is nothing on Earth as heartening as passing time with close companions.

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