THERE comes a time in many people’s lives when they reach the Age of Allam. That’s Allam as in Roger, as in the star of the moreish new crime caper, Murder in Provence (STV, Sunday).

Before the Age of Allam you see Roger in the likes of Endeavour or The Thick of It and think, “What a gifted comic actor he is. If he’s in something I’ll probably watch.”

Then you reach the Age of Allam and it's “What a gifted comic actor. Attractive, too. And so charming. If he’s in anything I will cancel EVERYTHING to watch.”

Roger did not disappoint as Antoine Verlaque, investigating judge in Aix-en-Provence.

You could tell from the opening titles, featuring artfully arranged stinky cheese, red wine and French bread, that Murder in Provence knew what its job was: to give viewers a taste of France, but not too much.

So we had the handsome architecture, the blazing sun, linen clothes as far as the eye could see, but everyone was English. It might as well have been called Murder in Twickenham.

The rule seemed to be that no-one did ze funny Franch accent unless zay were pronouncing someone’s name. This French but not French approach led to some odd moments, as when Antoine’s partner Marine (Nancy Carroll) asked in her best RSC tones what Marmite was.

Eventually someone got round to killing a professor at the university and a murder investigation began. Handily, criminal psychologist Marine was in sort of the same line of work as Antoine, so when she told him of her dreary day explaining the differences between the French, inquisitorial, system of justice, and the British/American adversarial one, it acted as a handy guide to Antoine’s job as an investigating judge. Basically, he’s half cop/half prosecutor, sifting through evidence and directing the investigation.

Actually, Marine, we were way ahead of you on this one having seen eight series of Spiral, but thanks anyway. On we trotted through two hours of loveliness, the crime stuff elbowing its way in here and there. We learned that Antoine comes from money, he likes art, and he has a terrible sadness in his past that means he can never be truly happy. Not that any of this mattered. He had us at "starring Roger Allam,” so of course we’ll be there next week.

While Murder in Provence was enjoyably cheesy, The Control Room (BBC1, Sunday-Tuesday) was irritatingly daft. A pity as it was made in Glasgow and featured a lot of home-grown talent.

Iain De Caestecker played Gabriel, a call handler at ambulance control. It was his job to stay calm in a crisis. Baby being born on the hard shoulder? No bother.

But even Gabriel was rattled when a caller said she had killed someone. Gabriel kept her talking, and something he says leads her to recognise him as a friend from childhood. What are the chances of that happening? It will not be the last time that question bubbles up.

I get that it was a psychological thriller and troubled Gabriel was not the most reliable of narrators, but come on.

Every time it seemed as though Gabriel had run out of luck there would be some other improbable twist. Had this been a big budget movie that rattled along you might not have minded the odd flaw. But it was so baggy the viewer had ample time to spot the shortcomings. What was initially intriguing became borderline laughable, which I cannot believe was the intention.

Darcey Bussell's Royal Road Trip (More 4, Tuesday) started in Scotland. Whatever Dame D tried on her travels to places “the Queen holds dear”, be it learning how to toss a caber, fish for salmon or make scones, she threw herself into it with gusto and the obvious belief that the viewer was as much a fan of the monarchy as she was.

That made the teeth itch at times, particularly when she related the tale of the royal yacht’s decommissioning as though it had been a tragedy. As far as I recall there was nothing stopping the family paying for the refurb themselves).

Britain's Tourette's Mystery: Scarlett Moffat Investigates (Channel 4, Tuesday) found the former Gogglebox poacher turned gamekeeper trying her hand at being Louis Theroux.

Moffat's task was to look into a huge spike in young people, mostly girls, suffering tics usually associated with Tourette’s. Was it mass hysteria, a by-product of lockdown and increased use of social media, attention-seeking, some combination of them all?

Moffatt, nice but no-one’s mug, asked one interviewee if she had ever faked a tic. She could have done with more of that but she got results and left the viewer to make up their own mind. I reckon Theroux, for whom she confessed a new found respect, would have been impressed.