Years ago, I designed a show for ITV called The Great Pretender. It was a quiz show based on the parlour game Mafia. In my format, the quiz formed only the first half of each episode – the second half was dedicated to working on which competitor had won. If the winner could keep their victory a secret, they got to take home the money. If not, the losers stole the prize.

The Great Pretender didn’t exactly set the world alight. It was too complicated, and, I can now say with certainty, it was before its time. Because, in a way, it was an early incarnation of The Traitors. A shit version, if you will. But, in my defence, I would never have got The Traitors away in its current, pure and beautiful, form. I can just imagine the pitch meeting: ‘No one wants to see people sitting round a table talking.’ Well, THEY DO, it turns out. Five million viewers want to see people sitting round a table talking. Which is to say: a) I am a misunderstood genius, and b) The Traitors is fucking amazing.

I didn’t watch the first series because I was busy sulking. I’m still sulking, to be honest. It’s just so goddamn good, and exactly the kind of show I wish I’d designed. Clever, funny, weird, layered and edge-of-your-seat tense. I keep hearing echoes of the development meetings that must have taken place to hone the gameplay – the format is strong but necessarily loose, to keep it fresh and ensure that the producers can dictate the narrative to their black hearts’ content. I love it when they mess about with the rules – recruit a new traitor, poison someone in plain sight, bring back a faithful from the dead, choose a date for the next general election. They can do whatever they like; the players, and us, are totally in thrall. It’s a wonder it’s so stylishly filmed and edited when the production team must have spent the entire shoot rubbing their hands with glee.

Talking of stylish, can we devote a moment to the wonder of Claudia Winkleman in her untwee tweed, striding around Andross Castle like she owns it – which she might, after this season’s fee. She’s somehow playing it straight AND hamming it up for Britain, looking super-hot and also like the Spitting Image version of herself. She’s so stern, she scares me, and turns me on – when I picture her in each episode, she’s carrying a whip. Was she wielding one at Diane’s funeral? I feel like she might have been, and it gives me a frisson. When she gently chided the male traitors for continually recruiting men, I donned all my suffragette jewellery, which was tricky as it kept snagging on my veil.

The death-march was my favourite of the missions, because it was entirely mental. I’m not keen on the Ninja Warrior challenges, they’re a bit of a jarring change of tone – obviously there’s a point to them, and thanks to commissioner-angst, they need something to break up the sitting-talking, but really… don’t we all want the sitting-talking to just go on and on? It’s unbelievably, core-strengtheningly gripping, watching them get it so wrong, wallowing in the mire of the group dynamic. For some reason, they all confuse popularity with innocence, and even Jaz-atha Christie can’t follow through on his suspicions, tentatively skirting round an (accurate) accusation before sheepishly voting for someone else. It’s almost as vexing as Harry’s atrocious spelling. I’m never quite sure who he’s chosen at the round table, because the letters he assembles on his board are so random.

Harry though. What a gorgeous little snake he is. Sneakier than Paul, whose jovial hubris brought him down. Isn’t it nice to see ordinary-looking folk, and older folk, and canny folk, and witty folk, and genuinely interesting folk, in a reality show? When the drones film those fleets of black Land Rovers powering through the lush Scottish countryside, I’m reminded of The Apprentice but there the similarity ends. The Apprentice candidates are dummies, in every sense. The Traitors’ team brings in real people and, rather than make them look stupid, they make them look like serpents.

I wanted Harry to win, but then Ross broke the fourth wall with his eyelid, and got all Hamletian, and it was so exciting that I transferred my loyalty. Now I want him to win, and I want the traitors to win, and I want the faithfuls to win, but the real winners are us, the viewers, because all this demonstrates that linear telly can be madly compelling and relevant, and provide true punch-the-air event entertainment. Well done BBC One; this alone is worth my licence fee.

Obviously, the real winners are also Studio Lambert, who make the show. Clever rascals – they’re the real traitors too. Devious, manipulative, naughty puppeteering production team, stirring the cauldron, whispering their spells. I fancy them almost as much as I fancy Claudia. It makes me glad I was one of them, once - a sort of development foremother, paving the way.

When I designed The Great Pretender, I was working with Stephen Lambert, and although I’m sure he doesn’t remember me, maybe he remembers my shit format. I’m not suggesting my show inspired his – The Traitors is a Netherlands buy-in – but maybe a spark of my idea lingered and merged with the Dutch hit. A tiny seed that became a mighty beanstalk. I’m just a glint in Claudia’s eye (a Winklewoman?), but I like to think I’m there somewhere.

God, what a self-aggrandising prick. I think I’m going to have to banish myself.

• The Traitors, BBC One, Series 2, 12 episodes