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In a quiet suburb of Dublin, an individual is standing in his driveway, dressed in a sleeveless jumper and expressing his thoughts. “I feel myself getting quieter. More invisible,” remarks the main character, looking toward the stars. “Circumstances have evolved and at this point I believe without a change, I’ll just carry on in this quiet, unremarkable life.” His friend Paul, his closest and only friend, considers these words. “There's no harm in that,” he responds, his robe moving gently. “Preferable to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For those weary by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV landscape, the show arrives like a cozy wrap with a hot drink of blackcurrant juice.

Similar to its gentle leads, the series – a six-episode program written by its authors, adapted from the author’s subtle 2019 novel – takes a dim view at modern life; peering skeptically above its eyewear toward anything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – goodness forbid – too much drive. The series is, instead, a celebration of shyness; a gentle tribute to people content to wander away from attention. However. Leonard (another sublimely idiosyncratic performance from Alex Lawther) feels restless. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways of my life … a little.” The recent death of his beloved mother has yanked the floor out from under him and Leonard, an anonymous author, now finds himself doubting the choices that directed him to where he is (alone; sporting facial hair; writing multiple kids' reference books for a boss who ends correspondence using the words “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard starts himself on a quest to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Hungry Paul (Laurie Kynaston) acting as his confidante, mentor and partner in a recurring game night which acts as discussion (“Does the pool feel warm from kids relieving themselves, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(Why “Hungry” Paul? It's unclear. The beginning of this name appears lost in history. It could be that the postal worker on one occasion consumed a sandwich unusually quickly, or responded to a socially fraught incident by nervously peeling four scotch eggs 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 his terrible supervisor (the actor) at a fire practice. That whooshing sound audible signals Leonard's peaceful routine undergoing a shake-up.

In another part in the initial show of the comedy not heavily plotted and more by what a modern audience may refer to as “atmosphere”, we meet the older generation (the brilliant the performer), a worn-out individual who privately views, saves and reviews daytime quiz shows to amaze his loving spouse with his general knowledge.

Leading us amidst this subtle warmth there is a voiceover who closely resembles – and truly is – the Hollywood icon. Truly, the star. If you are thinking, “surely the use of such a famous actor contradicts the series’ unshowy MO and initially serves only as a diversion?” that's accurate. However, Roberts acquits herself well, and phrases such as “Leonard's challenge is the missing an expression of discovery” assist in making sure that early misgivings give way if not quite to appreciation, then certainly understanding.

But that’s enough grumbling at this time. The show's core is in the right place: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, pointing out its favourite duck.” The program that moves gently wearing its simple clothes, sometimes gazing upward toward the sky, sometimes downward toward the ground, serenely certain that there is nothing in the world as uplifting as passing time with close companions.

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