As I type, an episode of The Simpsons is doing one of the things it does (or did) best, and slagging off television producers. Matt Groening’s other show, Futurama, which I almost love more than the Simpsons, also tears into network execs, and except for some of them being robotic, the portrayal is fairly accurate as far as I can see.

During the ten or so years I worked in television, I spent time at three networks, which differed madly in higher echelon involvement. Blue Heelers was pretty much left to do it’s own thing, and we’d have the occasional visit from a Sydney exec to sit in on a couple of meetings, change a few lines, then get back on a plane before 4pm. My favorite visit from such an executive came when I’d shaved all my hair off, and I heard him whisper to my boss “who’s that boy over there?”, pointing at me. Which was odd, as I had fairly obvious breasts back then.

Later on, when we were caning everyone in the ratings, we had regular visits from a different executive, who was both hilarious and story savvy. He liked to be referred to as The Grand Poobah, and bore witness to my perhaps most embarrassing moment in lunching history. During a meal break at an all day story meeting, somehow a discussion started about the movie “Playing Beattie Bow”. I had loved the book, but the film had sucked, and being the young firebrand I was back then, I loudly said “man, that movie was f%&@ed!” To my utter horror, the writer turned to me and said “I wrote it”, and our producer rapidly followed with “I directed it”. My reply? “I’ll get my coat”. It may have been that very moment I learned to keep my more disturbing opinions to myself.

Working in a gym is worlds apart from TV, which I love. It’s less cerebral, but the knowledge no one is going to send me home to rewrite a forty three minute twenty second script over the weekend is still sweet, even five years later. I can still add minutes and seconds together without thinking about it, and still recite synopses of many, many (too many) episodes of Blue Heelers, complete with episode numbers and sometimes guest characters, but every few months, some of those pieces of knowledge are replaced by advanced anatomy, a variation of an exercise, or some crackpot theory I might have come up with about exercise which makes me sound like I know what I’m talking about.

My only regret about the Grand Poobah was he didn’t take up an option on “the Snapper Squad”, an idea for a show I pitched to him back in ‘97. It was co-developed by my friend Pete, who sadly died last year. I reckon if I repitched it in a couple of years, the world might just be ready for it. Maybe …

Today I’m loving: the powder eyeliner I bought today. Freaky, but awesome.