I’ve got a problem. I’m utterly, hopelessly addicted to British television. The comedies. The dramas. The dramadies. I love it all.

All.

It’s gotten so ridiculous, I sometimes think in a British accent. I think that might possibly mean I’m overdosing. And I also think that might possibly mean I’m not so sure I care.

A combination of factors make it so irresistible. There are the locations, from Cornwall, spectacularly showcased in “Doc Martin,” to the most consistent character of “Monarch of the Glen,” the Scottish Highlands. There are the storylines, often tight, nearly always concluded.

And then there are the actors. In the U.S., actors seem to be chosen for their appearance, primarily. An ability to act is often a bonus feature. British actors tend to look like people, not burnished Plasticine, and seem to get the roles not because they look the part, but because they can transform the part.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had some amazing shows here, but unlike “Breaking Bad,” “Luther” is no anomaly in the British TV landscape.

Also, it’s where we get “Doctor Who.” So there’s that.