Some of you may lack my own profound knowledge of how television shows get made. Let me explain what everyone does.

Producer. The elbow-deep midwife to the calf of the network cow's faith in his abilities. Finder, fixer, friend, saint and sinner, iron fist in a velvet glove, thinker, problem-solver, diplomant, nurse-maid, emotional counsellor, tantrum-defuser, miracle-worker, primal cause of all causes, nuclear meltdown avoidance expert, iron fist in an iron glove (sometimes), scheduler, logistical genius, a seller of bicycles to fish, visionary, leader, prophet, talented fantasist and occasional fibber when required. You know the sort of pressure that turns coal into raw diamonds? Well, inside a producer's head, it's like that every day. Life expectancy: 3 years from date of first big network assignment.

Executive Producer. The man who put the money side of the deal together. Like god, only far more important. And real.

Director. At the start of a TV taping session, there are 31 expensively talented people sitting around doing nothing. That's exactly what they will continue to do, fully paid and under contract, until someone tells them what to do. That's the director's job. After several hours of telling people what to do, the director has to have delivered all the right pictures, and all the right sounds, so that lots and lots of viewers will want to watch the show. If he fails in this endeavour, he will end up fighting in the street over tossed-out fish heads.

Production Assistant. Always, always, always a fairly youthful female person with blonde hair, dressed in either black or black, and thin as the air at the top of K2. Usually has a clipboard covered with phone numbers and doodles that Freud would find scary. When writing a lower-case letter 'i', draws a circle or a heart instead of a dot. Gets bossed around a lot, but doesn't mind because at parties she gets to say she works "in TV", and knows that one day, one day before she is 30, she will win the Oscar for Best Director.

Cameraman. A person of great power. If he likes the performer, the performer will look like a million dollars even if he's wading knee-deep in goat spleens. If not, the performer will look like a sack of wet snot, no matter what.

Sound Recordist. Deaf. Deeply knowledgeable about (a) the line-up and set list of every top-rated heavy metal act from 10 years ago, (b) music sound studios within a 100 mile radius that he hasn't managed to get a job at. If you want his attention, don't call his name. Waste of time. Prod him with a stick or wave a bright shiny object.

Network Executive. A grim-faced spectral presence. Usually invisible to mortal eyes, but occasionally rising up from the floor like an unfurling fog, condensing into visible form just long enough to point to something and say it isn't what was agreed. A sort of wraith that feeds on the souls of failed producers. Their eyes contain the power of life or death.

Bob. Every TV taping session involves a man called Bob. No-one knows exactly who he is or why he's there, but he wears messy overalls, has tools, fixes things and makes cheery conversational quips. Absolutely indispensable. Bob also has duct tape. Anyone who works in TV, the movies or live events will tell you that the universe runs on duct tape, and it does. With duct tape, anything is possible. Without it, not a single TV show could ever get made.