Whipped into shape by production and typed out in tiny print, this is scrap of paper shoved into the crew's collective pockets just as they're leaving the set.

A cool call sheet contains call times, weather reports, a joke or two, everyone's phone number and what the schedule is for the next day. A crap call sheet has all the wrong dates, spells every name with a "y" and is primarily in Sanskrit.

A leftover from the Middle Ages, this is a long trestle table filled with sugary nourishment for the foot soldiers.

The "crafty" - as those who overuse nicknames call it - is pure weight gain. Ding dongs, pretzels, chips, dips and molten pig lard. Once you start, you can't get away. It lures you in like a naked siren on some Grecian cliff.

It's a nightmare. Trust me.

Long metal pole for putting stuff on. Like lights. And washing lines.

Big black rectangle of death for shielding out the sun.

See above.

For some reason, this is a polite way of saying: "John's actually in the process of trying to find some toilet paper in that foul-smelling portapotty over there."

On set, no-one can hear you scream.

At the start of the day, this is a list of what the director says he wants to shoot. By lunchtime, this is what the AD tells him he has time for.

The pages of dialogue and screen direction the actors read before they forget them and fuck it all up.

Where are you?

Where the hell are you?

Hey - didn't I asked you to come here over ten minutes ago and anyway what do you think you're doing leaving the set when you know I'm up to my eyes in crap that I can't deal with?

"What's Your Twenty" is movie-speak. People think it's cooler than saying what they mean.