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In a calm neighborhood of the city, a person is standing in his driveway, wearing a vest and sharing his feelings. “It seems like myself getting quieter. Less noticeable,” says Leonard, staring up at the night sky. “Events have unfolded and at this point I believe unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this minor, harmless existence.” Paul, his only and only friend, ponders these words. “That's perfectly fine,” he replies, his dressing gown moving in the breeze. “Superior to striving for recognition and causing harm instead.”

For anyone weary by the noise and constant stimulation of today’s TV offerings, this series steps in like a warm cover and a comforting beverage of a sweet cordial.

Like its gentle leads, the series – a six-part show developed by its authors, based on the novelist’s subtle 2019 novel – takes a dim view at modern life; peering disapprovingly over its eyewear on everything that involves disturbances, abrupt changes or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. The series rather, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute of those content to wander out of the spotlight. However. Leonard (one more distinctly original turn from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels a creeping “urge to throw open the doors and windows within my world … slightly.” The passing of his beloved mother has whisked the rug away from his feet and Leonard, an anonymous author, now realizes doubting the paths which led him to this point (alone; with a protective mustache; writing a range of kids' reference books for an employer who ends correspondence with the phrase “ciao for now”).

And so Leonard starts on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing friend Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his confidante, mentor and partner in a recurring board games evening which acts as symposium (“Is the pool warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and safe space.

(How did Paul get his nickname? It's unclear. The origin of the nickname appears lost to the mists of time. It could be that Paul once ate a snack very fast, or responded to a tense moment by nervously peeling several snacks with his teeth).

Entering Leonard's quiet life bursts a new colleague (Jamie-Lee O’Donnell), a recent energetic colleague who lightheartedly proposes to get rid of Leonard’s appalling boss (the character) at a fire practice. The swift movement you can hear is Leonard’s gentle world experiencing a revolution.

In another part during the opening installment of the comedy driven less by plot and more by what a modern audience could describe as “vibes”, we are introduced to Paul's father (the consistently great the actor), a battered sofa of a man who secretly watches, records then replays television game programs to impress his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience through all this subtle warmth we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Yes, the star. Should you wonder, “certainly the inclusion of a major Hollywood star clashes with the show's modest approach and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, the actress performs admirably, and dialogue for example “Leonard's challenge is that he lacks an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts fade though not complete approval, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. Leonard and Hungry Paul’s heart is well-intentioned: the right place being “located on a seat next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up into space, at other times looking toward the ground, quietly confident that there is nothing in the world as cheering as being in the company of good friends.

Open the doors and windows of your life, just a bit, and welcome it inside.