My Jerry Lewis story made me question the BBC for the rest of my career. As a student, I did work experience on a show investigating dodgy hypnotists. I travelled with two female BBC producers to Blackpool to interview a victim (you don’t want to know). At the hotel, a man was walking out as I walked in. We both held the door and stared at each other. “After you,” I said. “No, after you, young man”, he replied. I smiled, thanked him, and we passed. I turned to the producers: “Do you know who that was?” “Nope,” one said, in a tone suggesting I shouldn’t be making eye contact, let alone talking. “That was Jerry Lewis.” They stared. “Who?” “Jerry Lewis. Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis?” More staring. “Never heard of him.” “You’ve never heard of Jerry Lewis?” Internally, I was furious. Externally, I was still trying to get a job in TV. “Is he someone we’re interviewing?” one asked. “No.” “Then I’m not interested,” she snapped. “Put the gear over there.” What struck me wasn’t Jerry Lewis being in Blackpool (I found out later that he was filming Funny Bones). It was that these two women were producers with almost no knowledge of entertainment history, TV or film. I know this because I spent the rest of the week asking them very easy questions they couldn't or wouldn't answer. Yet they’re the people who decide what YOU should watch and what YOU’LL find interesting. After 25 years of being stuck in tiny edit suites with people like this (and honestly, it’s the norm), I could write a book about idiotic TV decision-makers who think they’re the smartest in the room and make choices based on what they assume YOUR intelligence level is.