Since the advent of colour television, Black British culture has significantly influenced the small screen—even during the late 20th century, when it was marginalised and culturally flattened for the idiot box. While shows like Love Thy Neighbour in the ‘70s relied on problematic stereotypes and crude slurs for cheap laughs, truly positive portrayals have always stood out amid the murky stereotypes and media hostility. Take The Fosters, the 1976 ITV series, for example: it became the first British sitcom with a predominantly Black cast, likely spurred on by the Stateside success of the African-American series Good Times. With the first domino in place, the odds began to shift.

By the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, British television was being forced to reckon more directly with race and representation. The Black and White Minstrel Show, one of the BBC’s most controversial programmes, remained on air until 1978, highlighting just how slowly the industry had moved. The following decade brought significant changes. The arrival of Channel 4 in 1982 opened the door to more experimental and culturally specific programming, creating space for Black British writers, actors and stories historically overlooked by mainstream television.

When Trix Worrell’s Desmond’s premiered on Channel 4 in 1989, it brought something rare to British television: a sitcom that placed Black characters at the centre of their own stories, portraying them as complex, ordinary and fully realised people. Created by Saint Lucian-born British writer, composer and director Trix Worrell, the series followed Guyanese barber Desmond Ambrose (Norman Beaton), his family and friends in a Peckham barbershop. What appeared to be a simple sitcom premise grew into something much more significant. Desmond’s became Channel 4’s longest-running sitcom, spanning 71 episodes, and throughout its run, it combined warmth and humour with sharp observations about race, identity, family, community and everyday life. By refusing to reduce its characters to stereotypes, the series offered one of British television’s most memorable and authentic portrayals of a Black family and the world around them.

Without Worrell (and, by extension, Desmond’s), many of the shows we celebrate today might never have existed. Although the sitcom ended in 1994, it is still widely adored today, with new generations continuing to discover and embrace it. Younger Black millennials and Gen-Z viewers may have encountered Desmond’s through repeats on the Black-focused British television channel Trouble, which introduced the show to a new audience alongside reruns of American favourites such as The Parkers and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in the years before the 2008 financial crisis. Desmond’s moved seamlessly between the comic absurdity of episodes like “The Head Hunter”, where the happily married Desmond finds himself navigating unwanted advances, and more serious storylines exploring race, class and the ambitions of Black British youth, such as Season 2’s “Reunion”.

As Worrell told TRENCH in 2026, “We get penalised for being different.” He believes this is part of the reason Desmond’s continues to matter. “I think that’s why the show still means so much to so many people all these years later, because a show like that is so hard to come by.” Across its six-season run, the series captured the rhythms and tensions of Black British community life with remarkable nuance. To commemorate the seminal television series, we caught up with Trix Worrell to reflect on its legacy and continued relevance.

TRENCH: What motivated you to create Desmond’s, and what were you responding to culturally at the time?

Trix Worrell: At the time, we were often portrayed negatively, equated with crime and villainy, and I wanted to change that narrative. The overwhelmingly negative and racist coverage of the New Cross fire [in 1981] by The Sun really upset me. Desmond’s was created as a response to this misrepresentation.

When you were pitching the show, can you talk a little bit about the importance of the characters’ Guyanese heritage and how integral it was to the story?

There was very little understanding of the Caribbean at the time. People would hear about places like ‘Saint Lucia’ and ask which part of Jamaica it was in [chuckles]. I had to fight to keep the Desmond’s family Guyanese because Channel 4 executives wanted them to be Jamaican. I felt strongly that we needed to tell our own stories properly.

How did you end up partnering with Channel 4?

Well, funnily enough, at the time, Channel 4 was trying to promote Black- and female-led productions—a lot of marginalised voices that weren’t being properly represented, you know? They ran a writers’ competition called Debut ‘84, and I won for a play I wrote called Just Like Mohicans. When I won, they congratulated me, gave me £1,000 and a friendly pat on the head. But they initially had no intention of producing it. After I challenged them publicly, they eventually agreed to turn it into a one-off drama, which helped open the door for Desmond’s.

Sounds like an uphill battle. It’s a shame you had to fight so hard for it. Let’s fast-forward a bit: when it came to bringing Desmond’s to life, can you talk me through the casting process and how you found the actors who would become so closely associated with these characters?

When I first started writing it, the show producers were saying, “Who do you think could play Desmond?” I never write anything with any actor in mind because their voice starts to permeate into what I’m writing. Once I finished it and gave it to them, we all read it and thought it was funny. We all collectively said there’s only one person who could play that character: the late, great Norman Beaton. Norman and Carmen [Munroe] had great chemistry.

Carmen Munroe is an absolute legend. What made her portrayal of Shirley so important to the series?

Carmen Munroe brought enormous strength to Shirley—she really was the matriarch of the series. She gave the character a warmth and authority that anchored the family dynamic. Alongside Ram John Holder as Porkpie, the chemistry between the cast just clicked. Ram is a brilliant musician, too, and I don’t think we highlighted that enough in the series. The Porkpie spin-off was great fun as well.

Were there any moments during the series’ run when you really felt the impact Desmond’s was having?

Yeah, there were a few. So, the biggest audience for Desmond’s was actually in Northern Ireland. NBC in America got in contact with us to do a one-off Cosby Show episode in 1991 because Bill Cosby was so in love with our series. Over the course of my career, I’ve worked a fair bit in America, working on MTV award ceremonies and stuff. When I met a lot of those rappers from America, they watched Desmond’s. I had a few people tell me that [Ice Cube’s movie series] Barbershop was very similar to a couple of storylines from Desmond’s, too.

How did you approach writing the younger characters in the series?

It’s interesting because, for me, the Black youth in the series reflect the hopes and ambitions of Black immigrant parents. Michael, the oldest child [portrayed by Geff Francis], was the one they hoped would go to university to become a lawyer or a doctor. However, he “fell short” and settled for a job as a bank manager. Professions like law and medicine are often the aspirations of many migrant parents for their children. Then there’s Sean, the youngest, played by Justin Pickett. He's growing up in a world where computers are starting to permeate society, hinting at the implications of how the world is changing.

Norman Beaton’s death, just days before the Series 6 finale aired, was a huge loss. Can you talk about that moment and how it affected the series and everyone involved?

It felt tragically poetic that Norman passed away in late ‘94, just as the series concluded. The original plan was to have them return to Guyana for a Christmas special, with Shirley coming back to England for her children. This reflected the theme of not quite belonging, a conflict between her heart being where her children are and the reality of feeling out of place. These feelings resonated with my own parents—my father retired young and returned to Guyana, but they faced the reality of being called English upon their return. This theme was to define the final special episode. Norman was going to stay back home and Shirley was to return. I remember speaking about my Christmas special finale with Norman when he was in the hospital.

R.I.P. Mr. Beaton. Looking at where Black British television is today, how do you reflect on the legacy of Desmond’s and the shows that followed in its footsteps?

In a way, I’m kind of saddened by it because at the time when Desmond’s was on, there was the idea that once a successful Black series had aired, you had to wait another 10 years before you got another good one. About 10 years after the series ended, we got the dreadful series with Robbie Gee called The Crouches. It was written by a white writer, and even though [famed theatre director] Paulette Randall was producing and directing it, the show felt off and in poor taste.

But what about predominantly Black-led shows like BBC sketch comedy The Real McCoy?

I actually worked as an executive for the pilot of The Real McCoy, alongside Lenny Henry. If the characters in that show had been white, they would likely be household names today. Only Meera Syal and a few others, like [the late] Felix Dexter, truly gained recognition from it. The cast was made up of incredibly talented comedic actors, but they weren't given the same opportunities to succeed as we were on Desmond’s. Modern shows like Dreaming Whilst Black are great, but I often feel these series are so few and far between.

Looking back on Desmond’s all these years later, is there anything you would have done differently, creatively speaking?

If I could change anything, I would have taken the story to the Caribbean and developed the migrant narrative more fully, exploring the theme of not fitting in here and not fitting in there either. That would have provided a true conclusion. I also wish we had delved deeper into Shirley’s story. Black women are real heroines and they deserve greater recognition.

Stream Desmond’s on Channel 4 here.