He may be Brixton's 'Prince of Cool', but how will pirate broadcaster, style-counsellor and fashion model Delbert Wilkins handle the hot potato of an unexpected intrusion into his private life?
Alex invests in some meat of dubious origin, so Julie, the kebab house's one-woman Green Party, tries to convince Delbert of the difference between 'crucial' and 'critical'.
Delbert is the confident Cupid of the Brixton Broadcasting Corporation's 'soul search' phone-in.
Delbert's belief in the cash-free society is put to the test.
Delbert and PC Monkhouse plan a cricket match to improve Brixton's community-police relations, but Sergeant Lillie is determined to put a riot shield in their wheel.
The kebab house goes up-market, the radio station goes middle-of-the-road, and Delbert's mum just goes.... forcing Delbert Wilkins, star of the 'BBC', to wonder where his future lies.
When the irrepressible Delbert Wilkins' TV career comes to an unscheduled end, he sets up a pirate radio station to rival his old, now legal, Brixton Broadcasting Corporation, controlled by Winston.
This must be a mistake, right? Geezers getting money out of banks with no questions asked and no nylon tights over their heads! I'd better check this out.' Not that Delbert Wilkins needs dosh, of course... especially when it's Winston asking for it!
The Big Brixton Posse, Delbert and Winston, is back together, out gigging again. The music's crucial, the floor is hot, the crowd is immense!
Alex's Brixton Broadcasting Cor-what-a-Bore-ration and Crucial FM are in totally fierce competition. I should be sharpening up my play-list, but my mum wants me to hang with my new stepfather, Trev - that's 'T' for 'Trouble' - 'R' for 'Rigid'!
Just because I'm laid up in hospital doesn't mean that Delbert Wilkins is out of action, right? I'm officially 'crucial' not 'critical'.
Delbert, suffering in the cause of his art, refuses to give in. 'Winston is reading this out for me, because my broken jaw's got more wire round it than Greenham Common!'
Vince, motorcycle despatch rider and master of the verbal wheelie, scorches his way through the metropolis in a leather-gussetted mission of life or death.
Popsi is a traditional Jamaican barber. To him, blow waves and mousse are technological mysteries on a level with the silicon chip and the roasting bag.
The greatest detective in history is about to travel into the future to solve a crime that won't happen for years. You might think that's impressive.
There are some men digging a hole in the road. Are they the same men who dug it up after the last lot filled it in after it was dug up by the lot before last who didn't fill it in?
It's 1955: Desmond King, just arrived from Jamaica, sees England as a civilised land of unlimited job opportunities where you can make a fortune faster than Rudyard Kipling can make cakes. Is it possible to be this wrong?
Heavenly Romance, the new video teen-magazine, tells the boy-meets-girl story in words, pictures and music. That is, sight and sound; taste, touch and smell have been banned. The question is: does it all work out in the end?
