LONDON — The laughter lines cracked. The studio lights dimmed in the awkward hush. Then Bob Mortimer, 66, the deadpan king of Would I Lie to You? and Gone Fishing, leaned into the mic on Kathy Burke’s Where There’s a Will, There’s a Wake podcast and unloaded a confession that’s gut-punched the nation: his heart flatlined for a harrowing 32 minutes during a 2015 triple bypass, dragging him to the brink of eternity where he glimpsed “the light” — only to snap back, forever changed, and utterly unafraid. “I’m done fearing the end,” he rasped, voice gravelly from decades of smokes and sarcasm. “But bloody hell, Kathy, missing the finale of my own story? That’s the real killer.” The 45-minute episode, dropped Tuesday amid a frenzy of pre-Christmas promo, has racked 4.2 million streams in 48 hours — Britain’s not just listening; they’re reckoning with mortality over their morning tea.

It was the one moment of truth in a chat that zigzagged from mock funerals to fish tales, but when Burke prodded about his health hell — rheumatoid arthritis gnawing his joints, shingles scorching his skin like a Bushtucker gone wrong — Mortimer didn’t dodge. “October 2015,” he started, eyes distant as if replaying the OR lights. “95% blocked arteries. Docs said I was a walking time bomb. Married Lisa 30 minutes before they wheeled me in — thought that was it.” The surgery? A triple bypass nightmare: surgeons pumped his heart full of potassium to stop it cold, machines taking over for those endless 32 minutes. “Felt nothing at first. Then… the tunnel. Bright white light at the end, pulling me in. Warm, peaceful. Like slipping into a hot bath after a crap gig.” He paused, the studio — packed with Burke’s inner circle, including a wide-eyed Lee Mack cameo — holding its collective breath. “Thought, ‘This is it. No more panel shows, no more Paul Whitehouse angling moans.’ But they yanked me back. Zapped the old ticker to life.”

The gasp? Palpable. Burke, no stranger to raw grief after her own battles, cracked a watery “You sod — now I’m booking my own plot.” But Mortimer’s punchline landed like a defibrillator: “Turns out, it’s just your brain dumping DMT or some chemical bollocks to ease the exit. Hallucination city. Sad, innit? But hey, no fear left. Death’s just lights out — poof, credits roll.” The room erupted in that awkward British mix of chuckles and sniffles, Mack muttering “Bastard, making us all book therapy now.” Yet beneath the banter, the weight: Mortimer, the eternal joker who’s mocked his own frailty onscreen (remember that viral Gone Fishing limp?), admitting 2023 was his “worst year yet” — hospital dashes mid-filming, joints screaming louder than his punchlines. “Can’t run anymore, Paul. But fishing? That’s my cheat code to sticking around.”

Britain wasn’t ready. The clip — timestamped at 28:47, that raw “poof, credits roll” zinger — exploded like a rogue firework. X lit up with #BobLight trending at 2.8 million posts by dawn Wednesday, fans splicing the audio over tunnel-vision edits of his classic sketches: “Patsy from Ab Fab who? Bob just out-dramad the lot,” one viral thread quipped, racking 150K likes. TikTok teens, half his age, stitched NDE recreations with captions “Grandpa Bob said death’s a bad trip — signing up for therapy RN 😭.” The Guardian hailed it “Mortimer’s Masterclass in Memento Mori — funny, frail, fearless,” while The Sun splashed “BOB’S LIGHT SHOW HELL: Heart Stopped 32 Mins, Saw Afterlife… But It’s FAKE!” Piers Morgan, predictably, piled on with a “Brave Bob, but chemicals? Pull the other one — faith’s the real zap,” only to get ratioed by 400K quote-tweets of atheists cheering “Science wins again, you hack.”

Celeb mates rallied raw. Paul Whitehouse, his fishing foil and heart-surgery survivor buddy, broke his low-key vibe with a tearful Radio 2 slot: “We bonded over bypass scars on the riverbank. Bob’s light? Mine was a pint waiting. He’s right — no fear, just frustration at unfinished yarns.” Vic Reeves (Jim Moir), the surreal half of their ’90s double act, tweeted a rare gem: “Bob saw the tunnel, I saw the punchline. Reeves & Mortimer forever — afterlife optional.” Even David Mitchell, his Would I Lie to You? sparring partner, cracked wise on a BBC panel: “Bob’s NDE? Probably lied about it for the show. But if it’s true… pass the defibrillator, I’m next.” Kathy Burke? She followed up Thursday with a bonus ep teaser: “Bob’s got me rethinking my wake playlist. No more Abba — straight to the light.”

But the divide runs deep. Skeptics in the comments — boomers mostly — slammed it as “attention-seeking morbidity,” one Daily Mail troll snarling “Stick to gags, not graves — you’re not dying yet.” Spiritual corners lit up too: Mediums on Instagram hailed “Bob’s bridge to the beyond,” while a Change.org petition for “Mortimer’s Official NDE Book Deal” hit 120K signatures overnight, begging for a memoir blending laughs with limbo. Health pros chimed in: Cardiologist Dr. Sarah Khalid told GMB, “32 minutes? Miracle territory. DMT floods explain the light — evolution’s kindness in crisis. Bob’s candor could save lives; blokes ignore heart red flags till the zap.” Rheumatologist ties? His arthritis-fueled immobility (that infamous limp) masked the cardiac creep, a cautionary tale for the over-50 crowd.

Mortimer’s stayed mum post-drop, holing up in his Northumberland bolthole with Lisa and the dogs, but a pal spilled to The Times: “He’s relieved. Carried that 32 minutes like a bad prop for a decade. Now? Lighter. Plans a Gone Fishing special on ‘angling for eternity’ — Paul’s already hooked.” No tours yet — health’s still a fickle foe — but whispers of a Last One Laughing cameo swirl, where his deadpan delivery could turn NDEs into punchlines.

As Britain digests over digestives, one truth echoes louder than the laughs: Mortimer, the man who mocked mortality onscreen, just humanized it off. That 32-minute void? Not the end — just the intermission. And in a year of losses (Ozzy’s echo still rings), his “poof” is a defiant encore: Live now, laugh harder, fear nothing. The nation’s not ready? Tough — Bob’s already seen the credits.