However, these guys are integral to the production. Me too, only I'm less integral.

In fact, I am so far down the list that the popcorn has been swept up and carried out the door in black bin liners by the time my name appears.

So when I'm asked what it is that I do, I casually answer: "Oh I'm in the film industry" before steering the conversation away to avoid having to elaborate.

There's definitely a misconception about the industry, for amongst all the gorgeous leading ladies and perfectly proportioned men, there are lots of normal folk ? like me.

I was mulling over my career choice the other day while being strung up in an Amspec harness (a body harness worn under your clothing, which allows you to move around freely in the air ? they used them in 'The Matrix' fight scenes).

I was a base jumper in a TV ad and this would be the ideal way to simulate free fall ? or at least so I was told. I hung just a few feet off the ground, with a giant green screen behind me, with various wires strategically connected through my clothing holding my body in position.

I must at this stage defend myself and say that I had done seven BASE jumps off an enormous cliff with a cameraman free-falling next to me earlier that week, however, it was felt that this particular rigged shot would better capture my expression.

"That's great!" said the director, summoning the air, which was a huge yellow compressor with a giant hose.

By adjusting the nozzle the air would blow into my face creating the effect of speed and falling.

For more...

This article originally appeared in the March issue of GQ magazine

Moments later the grips had sorted out the oil problem (so that's what they do) and I was directed: look calm, with a slight smirk, while appearing completely relaxed.

The camera started to roll just as I was punched in the face by the first blast. A combination of panic and self preservation overwhelmed me. I couldn't breathe. My sunglasses blew off my head while I tried in vain to contract my nose to prevent the toxic air from contaminating my lungs.

It felt like I was getting sandblasted. Reaching deep within I managed to smirk. When the director finally yelled cut, it was pure relief. Like hearing your doctor say: 'HIV negative".

The film industry is a rapidly growing creative industry. It has a certain appeal. There has always been something cool and dazzling about beautiful people and cameras, and no other profession is as forgiving of a lack of qualifications and background as the film industry. Almost anyone, irrespective of education or appearance can get into the industry. Much like politics.

The hierarchy structure is complex ? basically you can't laugh or joke at the director or assistant director, but they can laugh at you. If you're the client then no one laughs at you ? everyone just makes you tea all day.

I am neither. I freelance, walking the narrow line between being unemployed one month and having to turn down jobs the next.

As you can imagine, being a B-grade action-hero stunt double is amusing. My skills lie in stunts but I don't really consider myself a stuntman since my CV boasts only two disciplines; BASE jumping and rock climbing.

I can't drive cars, get shot properly or dive through windows. However, I was a terrorist once. The plot: a group of terrorists (dressed in red) take over an oil rig and defend it against a crack team of good guys (dressed in black) who are trying to recapture it.

My scene involved 15 baddies abseiling down ropes and shooting at the good guys. I was one of the baddies. And because I'd helped organise the abseilers I was offered a "senior" baddie role. I walked the platforms, looking tough and intimidating, remaining dry, while the others had to shoot at unseen characters in the water.

Action! The group of baddies slid down the ropes and shot randomly into the air. Ten seconds later the baddies were all bobbing up and down in the water, except for one guy, who was still at the top of the ropes. His abseil device had jammed.

It took an hour to reset everything before the director could yell "Action!" again. This time he got off the edge but seemed to experience some other technical difficulty. He would need to be replaced.

Next thing, the director was gesticulating wildly for wardrobe to find me a red wetsuit. I could handle the idea of abseiling down the ropes, but bobbing around in the water in Cape Town harbour wasn't my idea of fun. I am terrified of sharks, I can't really swim and it was freezing cold.

On top of that, the shoot was going to run through the night. My complaints fell on deaf ears and by the time I was scooped up I was verging on hypothermia.

I returned to my position and clipped into my rope. Abseiling quickly and efficiently is fairly tricky at the best of times, but worse when you're wet. The fins made shifting awkward and trying to appear even vaguely menacing with the pseudo AK-47 just wasn't going to happen.

"Ready and... Action!" shouted the director, which was followed by a huge explosion. The blast caught me unawares. I glanced upwards to check that no one was seriously injured before it occurred to me that this was probably part of the script.

The others had already begun their descent, so in a panic I gave chase, the rope heating up as I tried to catch up. I pivoted hopelessly, shooting at the moon instead of threatening adversaries. Then I lost my grip and landed in the water with the grace of a hippo off a diving board.

I made a mental point to remove all water stunts from my CV.

I seem to have the uncanny ability to find myself in compromising situations, and soon enough I was dangling off a mountain doing another job.

This job should have been easier. All that was required was a simple abseil down Table Mountain. The shot was long, which meant the director would be positioned somewhere on the cable car side of Plattekloof Gorge.

To help with communication I had a small speaker hidden in my ear. There was no need for a practice run. I mean how complicated could this really be?

"Action!" I started a series of dramatic leaps down the wall.

"Further out! Jump out more!"

I did my best but on a vertical wall the further away you leap, the harder you come crashing back into the wall.

"Be more flamboyant!" the director yelled in his nasal tone.

On my next leap I struck a Superman pose a split second before pulverising myself back into the wall. And then on my final launch I misjudged my footing and pivoted around a corner, crashing into a particularly unpleasant bit of Cape Fynbos affectionately known as Climber's Friend.

"Excellent! Excellent!" I heard as I dangled, examining my injuries. "Two or three more takes and we'll get the money shot!"

Indeed.

The next time you watch an advert from the safety of your couch, or are tempted to leave the cinema straight after the supporting actors' names have rolled by, spare a thought for the B-grade movie stuntman.

He's probably lying in a hospital somewhere recovering from his last job.

This article originally appeared in the March issue of GQ Magazine