Phil Mitchell, Albert Square's 'ardest resident. You have to drop the 'H' because it makes you more 'ard. Phil ate a lot of H's in his time and eventually moved on to crack. He would often do a days graft at the Arches, come home and have some crack sprinkled on his frosties.
But today wasn't like any other day, no. Phil wasn't going to be eating crack for breakfast, he wasn't going to be drinking shoe polish in mistake for water. He wasn't going to be watching Heartbeat naked at 2am in just his briefs, oh no.
Today was the day that Phil Mitchell, lord of The Vic, protector of e20 was going to enchant his magic crack beans and make a bloody fortune off of them on Billy's market.
Phil had been up all night on a Tuesday on google hangouts with all the local crackpots discussing laser work onto some crack beans he had found under the sofa. There was much a routine and a lot of ground work to be done in such a venture, but Phil had potential. Phil would oft rub his head in delight as he got closer and closer to growing the crack beans and becoming the crack baron of East London.
He decided that laser work wasn't the way forward and that he would stick to his enchantment. Peggy had returned to the Vic recently and married a recently regenerated Heather Trott from her death by the hand of his son Ben. Phil wasn't best pleased of the recent return of the Trott and had waged war in the battle of the Laundrette back in the winter of 2012. There was much death and famine back then, the market had crashed. Billy and Ian were an item after years of hidden love. Jane had joined the English Rugby team after being caught out with a phallic item in her boxers. Dot had become a satanist and joined the popular 70s rock group KISS. Ben was in a terroist cell in the east. Bianca lead a rebellion of warriors up through the thames and took on parliament, beat Cameron and his minions and become the PM of England. Kat and Mo made a brothel in Arthur's shed. Lauren was back on the sauce and many other strange things had happened.
Fast forward a few days.
Phil was laying there, naked as per usual, covered in soot and his own faeces. Shit under his nails where he'd been scratching his arse whilst high as a kite. A pint of fresh piss on the floor next to the sofa. One leg hanging over the side and t'other scrunched up. His bald, red head was on show and looking like something John Virgo would aim for on the snooker table.
Tiffany left her house, went to Phil's abode, knocked the door multiple times, but no response. She knocked repeatedly until she saw the red, filthy, balding head arise from his slumber.
Phil looked angry and boy do I mean mega angry. He was like Godzilla in Tokyo, he slowly dragged his feet towards the door, roaring an unreadable roar whilst heading towards the front door.
He roared " Patrick, where's my crack? " right to young Tiff.
She responded with " Mr. Mitchell i'm here to hand you a rehab leaflet, it was given to me by Sir Martin of Fowlershire. "
"Patrick, I want some cracktrick okay?" replied Phil, whilst slamming the door.