Excuse me for a moment while I light a cigarette. There. Wonderful. Hang on a moment, where’s the ashtray? Oh, right, I think I threw it at the landlady — I can’t stand that woman — after taking a bit too much Vicodin. Well, this empty Coke can will have to do, though it seems to have some nicotine gum stuck to it.

Now, to the business at hand: This new four-part documentary series on HBO called “Addiction,” which starts Thursday night. Well, I’m very much against addiction. Given that I’ve read Herbert Brean’s “How To Give Up Smoking” (Or Your Money Back!) more times than any book on the planet, I think I come by that statement honestly.

Addiction is a terrible, terrible thing, and the thought of having to wade through a four-part documentary about it doesn’t help, quite frankly. This may call for a couple of Valium. Also, I’ve only got three cigarettes left, which means I’ll have to go down to the Yemeni grocers, who are all stoned on Qat (I think —they certainly behave pretty strangely, particularly if you happen to drop by late at night), and maybe pick up a double espresso from that overpriced pseudo-Italian joint with all the broken chairs while I’m at it.

Talk about addiction! I’ve spent a fortune in that place. $2.75 for a small cappuccino. Plus they have that enormous glass tip jar — it’s a vase, really — into which you’re supposed to drop a dollar after you’ve stood in line for a half hour. And then you’re expected to clear your own table as well. Sickening. If that isn’t addiction, I don’t know what is.

Anyway. “Addiction.” HBO. Well, HBO’s a bit of an addiction, isn’t it? “It’s not television, it’s HBO.” What does that mean? Home Box Office. Doesn’t sound very addicting — it sounds like one of those huge warehouse places where you wander around for an hour and come out with some paper clips — but people pay through the nose for it. “The Sopranos,” “Rome,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” “Entourage,” “Deadwood,” “Real Time With Bill Maher,” etc., etc., year after year after year.

People should spend some real time without Bill Maher and see how that feels. It’s like what my Israeli yogi told me: Why can’t you just sit in your room and do nothing and feel at ease with yourself? Good question. Of course, he hasn’t seen my room. Which reminds me, I’ve got to check my e-mail. Why are there so many Israeli yogis anyway?

The thing is — these Valium are really kicking in — I can’t find my glasses. Or my notebook, or my pen, or the “Addiction” screener HBO sent out, even though they sent two. This apartment’s tiny and there are DVDs everywhere. The BBC alone sends about 40 a week. I don’t know what to do with the damn things, and I’ve reviewed far too many BBC shows already. My wife says I should mail them to our soldiers in Iraq, but I never get around to it. Anyway, I don’t know if they’d like the BBC stuff very much. I sort of think the BBC is a bit partial to the other side, if you know what I mean. Makes for higher ratings. More bombs. More chaos. More addictive.

Okay, I’ve found the DVD, plus the entire HBO press kit, which is the size of an encyclopedia. It was under the cat, who seems to be putting on weight. I’m also back from the Yemenis (they are stoned, I’m telling you, I’ve got to get them to give me some of that stuff without them thinking I’m a narc), but the pseudo-Italian place was closed — I had no idea it was 4 a.m. — so I think I’ll just make myself a really strong cup of tea with three bags — Irish Breakfast, English Breakfast, and Earl Grey — and let it steep for as long as possible. It should help me concentrate.

On my way up the stairs I noticed the French guy was smoking pot again. The hallway reeked of it, because the smoke seeps out from under his door. I was going to knock and ask for some but I think he had a girl in there. Maybe two. (There was a lot of giggling.) The French are very addictive, I think. Alcohol, cigarettes, sex, theory, cheese. … They take more antidepressants than anyone in the world, but it’s probably just so they can be addicted to something else. They’re also very keen on suppositories, but I don’t know what that’s about. The psychiatrist Anthony Daniels told me if someone marketed anti-depressants to the French in suppository form they’d make an absolute fortune. We were standing in a street in England filled with thousands of screaming drunks when he said that. It was 2 a.m.

Now that I’m looking at the press kit it turns out “Addiction” is actually a 14-part series, each dealing with a separate form of it. Good grief. I’m sure it’s very interesting, but I don’t think I’m up to watching it. So to summarize, addiction is bad, and all things in moderation, etc. On the other hand, completely nonaddictive personalities can be a bit frightening — like my yogi, for instance, who says he feels perfectly comfortable sitting in a room doing absolutely nothing. Anyway, he’s addicted to chanting and doing his “postures.” I know that for a fact. He can’t get through a day without them. So there.

bbernhard@nysun.com