I’m a past master at the rictus smile of the polite award loser. I’ve worn more rictus smiles than you’ve had hot dinners. Certainly more than I’ve had hot dinners at awards dos where the vegetarian main course has a microwaved outer crust but still-frozen heart – just like the awards judges who overlooked my… OK, don’t get bitter.

You develop some coping strategies when you’ve sat through 17 years of Emmerdale not winning what it objectively should at awards ceremonies. By objectively, I mean, of course, in my opinion and the opinion of all right-minded people. I will pass on some of that wisdom.

Rule 1: Never ever believe someone who says you’ve definitely won. Well-intentioned press people will shimmy up to you beforehand and tell you that they know for sure you’ve nailed the big one. Don’t fall for it.

The International Emmy for Documentary Series was a personal nadir. The BBC’s person in New York assured me that Naked Hollywood had won, so much so that she made me rehearse an acceptance speech in front of her in case I was “overcome by the emotion of winning”.

"I was rewarded with the most depressing phrase in TV. I was “not show critical”."

And very helpfully on the night, she pulled my chair out from under me as the award was being announced. As the Emmy slipped from my grasp and went elsewhere, I was left frozen in a crouching position, grimace straining across my face.

I think there’s now a statue on the sidewalk outside that hotel entitled “TV Executive at Stool”. If there isn’t, there should be. In retrospect, the idea that a series which intercut Michael Ovitz – at the time, the most powerful and feared agent in Hollywood – with wildlife footage of stags rutting, might win an award voted for by his industry colleagues was insane. But all awards are a work of insanity.  Even when you win.

I once won Jet Petroleum’s Motoring Correspondent of the Year at a lavish ceremony in the Savoy. I called up my editor at Vogue to tell them about my incredible success. 

I was met with a sharp intake of horror: “Jet Petroleum?” The disdain was palpable. “Just don’t mention it to anyone. We can make this go away,” she hissed. I’d been thinking a banner across Christy Turlington’s face on the front cover. Rule 2: Be careful what you wish for.

Rule 3: You really don’t want to know anyway. I once lobbied the producers of an awards show very hard to know whether it was worth me getting on a ferry to come down from a Scottish island or not. 

I was rewarded with the most depressing phrase in TV. I was “not show critical”.

It took me a good year to stop mumbling the phrase in my sleep. I would dream of everyone whom I had ever disappointed in life queuing up to tell me I was “not show critical”. Ending with St Peter.

So, what does a year in which Emmerdale has just won all four major TV awards (including the hyper-prestigious RTS award for Soap and Continuing Drama) feel like? Well, it feels rare, to be honest. It’s an amazing achievement by the team and truly great for Leeds.

But, whenever I start smug-ing up, I think of Rule 4: Every dog has its day. As, indeed, did Batley, the Emmerdale dog, at the British Soap Awards in 2002. Batley beat all the human soap stars, much to their delightfully visible chagrin, to win the coveted Best Exit award, by dying pitiably in the arms of his owner after a lethal injection from Paddy the vet.

He died for Emmerdale. He died for us. That’s how important awards are, right there.

John Whiston is ITV Studios’ creative director, serial dramas.