It’s near-weekend time, dear Hatpeople, and I wanted, as your “SA-positive” blogger, to send you cruising into weekend mode with a song in your heart and a smile on  your dial.

So I apologise in advance for my feeling the need to have a rant at a very English upper-middle class plonker. A well-known restaurant reviewer who has long been insufferable for his unrestrained pretentiousness but who has now topped that with a single act of such intolerable stupidity that he has had even his fiercest critics choking on their gin and tonics.

To set the most horrible of scenes, here are two photographs…

A homo sapien

A baboon (with baby)

Now you would be forgiven for believing that the sentient being in the first photograph might be appear to be more evolved than the sentient being in the second. For starters, he’s wearing clothes and spectacles and has exercised a humanoid option to be clean-shaven.

The baboon, on the other hand, is still walking on four legs, has stuck with the head-to-toe furry look and carries her child on her back instead of in a babyseat in the back of a Volvo.

But, yes, all is not quite what it seems. The man pictured above, one AA Gill, the much talked-about restaurant critic of the Sunday Times in London, recently shot and killed a baboon similar to the one you just saw. Not the same one, obviously. For all I know the baboon that Gill shot has been gutted, cleaned and stuffed and is on display on a wall of a North London pied-a-terre, perhaps next to a nice artwork by a trendy artist that the Sunday Times columnist may have bought on a visit to the Saatchi Gallery.

Gill took out the baboon from 250 yards while hunting, in his words, in “a truck full of guns and other blokes” in Tanzania. Horrible. But, far from keeping this shard of inhumanity to himself, the over-educated imbecile couldn’t wait to get back to London to boast about his heroic act in his newspaper column.

Wait for this. Gill wrote: “I took him just below the armpit. He slumped and slid sideways. I’m told they can be tricky to shoot: they run up trees, hang on for grim life. They die hard, baboons. But not this one. A soft-nosed .357 blew his lungs out.”

How Hemingwayesque. How reprehensible. Hang on. It gets worse. Why? Why would an educated toff leading some sort of civilised life among London’s literati want to kill a defenceless primate living wild and free in Africa?

This is what AA Gill offers by way of explanation: “I know perfectly well there is absolutely no excuse for this,” he wrote. “There is no mitigation. Baboon isn’t good to eat, unless you’re a leopard. The feeble argument of culling and control is much the same as for foxes: a veil for naughty fun. I wanted to get a sense of what it might be like to kill someone, a stranger. You see it in all those films: guns and bodies, barely a close-up of reflection or doubt. What does it really feel like to shoot someone, or someone’s close relative?”

This beggars belief, doesn’t it? I shall not make note here of the outpourings of rage and indignation from animal rights groups. You can imagine how they have responded. Or read it on guardian.co.uk. I would be interested to know how you might respond to this story. My response is simply this: So, Mr Gill, For all your privileged education, for your so-called sophistication among the media community in a progressive society, you were influenced by cinematic violence to kill an animal which represented for you an opportunity get a feeling of what it might be like to kill a person, somebody like “someone’s close relative”?

Here it is, Gill. A judge would have difficulty accepting that codswallop from a ghettoised 14-year-old gang member off his head on tik. You have no such excuse, Gill. You are a despicable example of a half-wit bored out of his twisted mind from leading too easy a life writing pretentious crap about food that would look more at home as a Turner Prize entry than on any right-thinking person’s plate.

You are pathetic. You haven’t shot and killed a close relative. You have murdered an animal with a far heightened sense of its place in the food chain than you. And, far from showing remorse, you appear to be revelling in what you have done. I cannot suggest what should be done to you without reducing myself to your level of pondscummy behaviour. So I must. I want you to kill yourself. That would show some courage. And should provide you with the ultimate adrenaline rush that you so gratuitously seek. Toolhead.