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Let Idris be the judge: Should I try to get my infant son cancelled?

Idris Elba, actor, DJ and best James Bond that never was, answers your moral quandaries

Dear Idris,

I’ve recently become a father to a gorgeous little boy called Leo. No need to congratulate me – it wasn’t me who went through 30 hours of labour and an episiotomy, even though I kept telling my wife I’d happily change places if I could.

Anyway, Leo’s 12 weeks old and I’ve come up with an amazing idea to enhance my son’s life for the better. I’m going to get him cancelled on social media for voicing bold opinions that offended the woke media.

It’s a real boost to a career, and he’d be the youngest ever to do it. Imagine all the newspapers that would let him write columns and the attention he’d get. He could end up the first baby pundit on GB News.

I have the distinct feeling he’d thank me later, when he has the capacity to be grateful for all I’ve done for him. What do you think? Massive fan of Luther, by the way.

Tom Logan

Dear Tom,

You’ve certainly given me an intriguing puzzle. I not long ago finished recording my voice part for Sonic the Hedgehog 3, and I’ve worked with Jason Statham, so I know a little something about how undeveloped minds work.

Great idea getting your little one cancelled – it’s a shame he’s too young to get de-banked – but how are you going to go about it? Babies famously don’t express opinions outside ‘Breasts are great’ and ‘My arse needs wiping’, both of which are eminently sensible and hardly cancellable.

You could always do a weird kind of ventriloquism act on your baby, but you’d have to be fucking good. Getting ‘trans women are the devil’ and ‘migrants should be housed in burning chicken coops’ out without moving your lips and operating Leo’s mouth sounds like quite the challenge.

I’m also concerned nobody will believe a newborn like Leo has had time to think up these opinions on his own, and is just parroting yours. Kind of like where Farage says anything that Putin wants, but with the metaphorical hand up the arse far more visible.

Put a hold on your plan until he hits the terrible twos, when he’ll frequently be beet-red in the face and screamingly furious about not getting his own way no matter how unreasonable. Then he’ll walk right onto GB News or, as a failsafe, Talk TV.

Hope it goes well with your little tiny racist,

Idris

Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

Thatcher would have fiercely opposed Ulez. ‘Ulez if you want to,’ she’d have said. ‘The lady’s not for lezzing.’

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Lock up your daughters. Not because anyone sexy’s in town, but because you suspect they may have committed armed robbery.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

Is Yevgeny Prigozhin still alive?! Or is your new bald boss, who admittedly is a vicious, tyrannical piece of shit, nevertheless an entirely different person?

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Oppenheimer would have had an easier time if he’d created something that benefited the world, like ‘Honk If You’re Horny’ stickers.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Mum, it’s me, my phone got lost and I can’t access my account. Can you send £1,209 to this sign of the zodiac?

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Gandalf shouldn’t have come back as Gandalf the White. He should have come back with a leather jacket and a blue mohawk and declared himself Gandalf the Punk.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

“So just as we’re going into Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony, he realised I’ve swapped his cello for a massive violin. The look on his face!”

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

“This Christmas’s hottest novelty gift? Luis Rubiales, The Kissing Spaniard is the new Big Mouth Billy Bass.”

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Wait, for all the other people celebrating 4/20 it’s a weed thing? They don’t even know it’s Hitler’s birthday?

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

It’s no wonder Turkey’s become the place to go for hair transplants. Their hair is so thick and so lustrous.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

Oddly, you didn’t even notice there were no A-list stars on the red carpet at the Venice Film Festival. Maybe because you’re not there, it doesn’t matter and nobody gives a fuck.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Rolling Stone magazine’s stopped lying to itself and admitted the Album of the Year has been, for the last forty-three years, Van Morrison’s Moondance.

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