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In a quiet suburb of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a tank top and expressing his thoughts. “It seems like my voice is fading. Less noticeable,” says Leonard, staring into the darkness. “Events have unfolded and currently it seems without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his only and only friend, considers the idea. “That's perfectly fine,” he responds, his robe flapping gently. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact only to wind up defacing it.”

For anyone weary by the chaos and constant stimulation of today’s TV landscape, the show arrives like a warm cover and warming mug of Ribena.

Like its quiet characters, the series – a six-episode comedy developed by Richie Conroy and Mark Hodkinson, adapted from the novelist’s understated story – casts a critical eye toward today's world; peering disapprovingly above its prematurely middle-aged glasses at anything that involves unnecessary noise, sudden movements or – heaven forfend – excessive aspiration. This show is, instead, an ode to introversion; a subtle homage to people happy to wander out of the spotlight. And yet. The character (another sublimely idiosyncratic portrayal from Alex Lawther) is uneasy. He senses an increasing “need to open the entryways within my world … slightly.” The passing of his parent has yanked the floor away from his feet and Leonard, a ghost writer, now realizes questioning the choices that have brought him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; writing several children’s encyclopedias for a boss who signs off correspondence saying “see you later”).

Thus Leonard begins on a journey for personal satisfaction, alongside his more outgoing Paul (Laurie Kynaston) functioning as his close companion, life coach and co-conspirator in a recurring game night that serves both as debate (“Does the pool feel warm due to children urinating, or do children urinate as it's heated?”) and refuge.

(How did Paul get his nickname? The reason is unknown. The beginning of the moniker seems forgotten to the mists of time. Maybe Paul once ate a sandwich very fast, or responded to an awkward situation by hastily opening four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Arriving in Leonard's calm existence comes Shelley (the performer), a recent spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to eliminate Leonard’s appalling boss (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The swift movement audible represents Leonard's calm life undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of this program not heavily plotted and more on what younger viewers may refer to as “mood”, we meet Paul's father (the ever-wonderful the actor), a tired character who secretly watches, tapes and rewatches trivia competitions to amaze his adoring wife through his fact recall.

Shepherding the audience amidst this gentle kindness we hear a narrator that is unmistakably – and actually is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the celebrity. If you are thinking, “certainly the inclusion of a big-name celebrity contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a distraction?” you're right. Still, Roberts acquits herself well, and lines for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that initial doubts give way if not full admiration, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The series' spirit is in the right place: the right place being “sitting on a park bench next to the Detectorists, showing the duck it loves.” This is a show that ambles along wearing its simple clothes, occasionally looking up at the stars, sometimes downward toward the ground, calmly assured that there is nothing in the world as cheering as spending time in the company of dear pals.

Open the doors and windows in your existence, a little, and welcome it inside.