Bob Mortimer, the beloved British comedian whose deadpan wit and surreal sketches have entertained generations, has dropped a bombshell that’s equal parts heartbreaking and heroic. In a candid interview aired on BBC Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs on November 24, 2025, the 66-year-old star of Mortimer & Whitehouse: Gone Fishing confessed he’s been secretly thumbing his nose at his doctor’s strict post-surgery diet—specifically, a draconian limit on his beloved cheese. “I’d rather have three years less,” Mortimer quipped through a voice thick with emotion, tears visibly welling as he explained his philosophy: savoring life’s simple joys over extending it in misery. The revelation, coming a decade after his near-fatal triple heart bypass, has sparked an outpouring of support from fans who see in Mortimer not just a funny man, but a fighter teaching the world how to embrace mortality with grace and a side of Stilton.

For those tuning into Mortimer’s orbit for the first time, his career is a masterclass in unassuming brilliance. Born Robert Renwick Mortimer in 1959 in Middlesbrough, England, he traded a solicitor’s desk for the stage in the 1980s, teaming up with Vic Reeves (aka Jim Moir) to birth cult classics like Vic Reeves Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. Their partnership birthed absurdism gold—think custard-pie interrogations and egg-spinning challenges—that redefined British panel shows. But Mortimer’s star ascended further in the 2010s with Gone Fishing, a serene antidote to his manic on-screen persona. Co-starring fellow comic Paul Whitehouse, the BBC series trades punchlines for pondside chats, tackling mental health and friendship amid England’s pastoral beauty. It’s racked up seven series since 2018, with an eighth in production as of December 2025, drawing 3.2 million viewers per episode and earning BAFTA nods for its quiet profundity.

Yet beneath the laughs lurks a litany of health woes that could fell a lesser soul. In October 2015, what Mortimer dismissed as a chest infection turned apocalyptic: his heart stopped for 32 harrowing minutes en route to the hospital, arteries clogged 95% with plaque. “I was drifting toward the light at the end of the tunnel,” he later recounted on Where There’s a Will, There’s a Wake podcast earlier this year, describing a euphoric calm that stripped away his fear of death. Rushed into emergency triple bypass surgery, he flatlined twice more on the table. Remarkably, just 30 minutes before the scalpel, he wed his longtime partner Lisa Matthews in a hasty hospital ceremony—sons Harry and Tom by his side—ensuring she’d inherit without legal headaches. “It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever done,” he joked in the recent interview, though his voice cracked recounting the terror.

Post-op, the edicts were merciless: slash saturated fats, cap cheese at a matchbox-sized sliver weekly, and swear off the fry-ups that fueled his youth. Rheumatoid arthritis, diagnosed in his 20s, already gnawed at his joints, forcing painkiller dependency and a lifelong limp. Then came 2024’s shingles outbreak, a viral ambush that paralyzed his legs for six months, confining him to a wheelchair for half of Gone Fishing‘s seventh series. “I couldn’t walk, couldn’t fish—Paul had to push me like a grumpy grandpa,” Mortimer shared with a wry chuckle during filming breaks in Norfolk. Lockdown in 2020 exacerbated it all: zero exercise, binge-eating, and boozy nights shaved “two years off my life,” by his own tally. Yet through it, Gone Fishing became therapy, with Whitehouse—another heart surgery survivor—bonding over rods and reflections on fragility.

Enter the defiance: cheese. That creamy, crumbly vice Mortimer hails as “the food of the gods.” Doctors warned it could summon another cardiac event, but in the Desert Island Discs chat with host Lauren Laverne, he laid bare his rebellion. “Sometimes I just need to live, not count every beat,” he said, eyes misting as he admitted sneaking full wheels into his diet. “I don’t feel scared about death… I just feel frustrated thinking I won’t see how stories end.” The line landed like a gut punch, echoing his podcast musings on missing his boys’ milestones or the world’s unfolding dramas. Friends close to the comic paint a portrait of quiet insurgency: “Bob’s fought death and fear more times than anyone can imagine,” one pal told outlets off-record. “Now he refuses to let anxiety or medical orders steal his moments.” It’s a stance rooted in that near-death bliss—no panic, just a serene acceptance that life’s too finite for flavorless compliance.

The interview’s raw vulnerability has ignited a social media firestorm, with #BobMortimer and #LiveLikeBob trending in the UK for 48 hours straight. Fans flooded X (formerly Twitter) with testimonials: “He’s brave beyond words… teaching us all what it means to truly live,” one user posted alongside a clip of Mortimer’s teary confession, garnering 45K likes. Another: “Bob’s honesty hurts and heals at the same time—crying over my cheeseboard tonight in his honor.” Celebrities piled on—Stephen Fry called it “a masterclass in mortality,” while Reeves tweeted a fishing emoji and “To Bob, with cheese.” Whitehouse, ever the stoic sidekick, shared a rare personal post: “We’ve dodged enough hooks to know when to reel in the joy. Love ya, mate.” Even skeptics, quick to cry “celebrity privilege,” softened upon learning Mortimer’s foundation quietly funds arthritis research, donating £500K anonymously since 2016.

This isn’t Mortimer’s first brush with public candor. In 2020’s lockdown diaries, he bared his soul on Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster, admitting the pandemic’s isolation amplified his rheumatoid flares. Last September, post-shingles, he detailed the muscle atrophy that left him “looking like a deflated balloon animal” during Gone Fishing shoots. Yet each disclosure flips the script—from victim to victor. “There are days I cry, days I laugh, but I refuse to let fear control my life—I’m going to make every second count,” he declared in the BBC sit-down. It’s a mantra that’s resonated amid Britain’s NHS strains, where heart disease claims 160K lives yearly, per 2025 Health Department stats. Mortimer’s stance? A middle finger to fatalism, urging blokes (and everyone) to swap statins for savoring.

As Gone Fishing Series 8 tees up for a March 2026 premiere—filmed in Scotland’s misty lochs despite Mortimer’s lingering limp—the comic shows no signs of slowing. He’s eyeing a Shooting Stars revival with Reeves and guest spots on Taskmaster, all while penning a follow-up to his 2020 memoir And Away…, which sold 100K copies blending hilarity with hardship. Lisa, his rock of 20 years, jokes he’s “the healthiest sick person I know,” crediting his humor as the real elixir. Sons Harry, a budding musician, and Tom, studying law, echo the pride: “Dad’s not defying doctors—he’s defying despair.”

Critics might tut-tut the cheese gambit as reckless, but Mortimer’s metrics aren’t longevity—they’re legacy. In an era of filtered facades, his unvarnished truth cuts through: health battles don’t demand defeat. They demand dairy. As one fan etched in a viral meme: “Bob Mortimer: Surviving heart attacks, one Brie at a time.” It’s shocking, yes—in its simplicity. Inspiring? Undeniably. And for a man who’s stared down the void, utterly unforgettable. Pour a pint (non-alcoholic, perhaps), slice the cheddar thick, and raise a glass to Bob: the jester who’s mastered the jest of living.