There's always been a deep hatred in my soul for the great unwashed that makes me want to unleash suffering upon the masses. Unfortunately in this modern age of civility and settling disputes in court, we're forced to resort to unconventional warfare - but that poses no hurdle for the creative man to overcome.

The answer: I've been consuming nothing but cans of beans and dark rich ales to ferment an eyewatering poison within me that I'm unleashing in the meat aisle at my local Aldi.

I begin my day with two cans, one of hot baked beans, then I finish it off with cold kidney beans. I wash it down with dark beer, which I believe really amplifies the zing in the air that somehow closes the airways the moment it permeates the skin.

What you wouldn't expect is the delicate balance of holding it in as you waddle to Aldi. A word of advice? Don't clench. Clenching only puts tension in the region. You really have to not think about holding your cheeks shut, but holding the pressure higher in your body.

But it's all worth it, for when the time comes, the relief makes up for all the effort.

When I get through those Aldi doors, I open my own. I like to get there for about 3:45pm, so I'm surrounded by mothers with their children picked up from school doing their shop. It's busy, packed with shopping trolleys posing as even more barrier for a quick exit.

You can really see it in the eyes, when the realisation sets in. The slight film of liquid building up, the darting of the eyes, the dilation of the pupils. The scent hangs thick like a soup skin, pierced by the spoon of shrieking moments later. But escape, well, escape is not an option. You see, it sticks. The air is tacky with the aroma and, like a fly on a glue trap, my victims do not make it out.

I wish I could stop. I wish I felt sympathy. The tax this puts on my body is harsh, but it's no longer a choice, it's a compulsion. Duty calls me.