This book angered me so much that I had to bail out at 35% (so my Kindle tells me) which is just after the chapter detailing Crowhurst's disastrous first 11 days.

The man was a fool.

He wanted to be a hero, one of his own making, yet he begged and borrowed and skimped and penny pinched his way into getting a boat which needed months more prep to be properly seaworthy, all the while hugely overestimating his own abilities to sail.

This is no extraordinary tale of survival; no haunting story of one man against the sea. Crowhurst is no Shackleton. This is a book about an idiot who lost his life because he jumped in with two feet into a task he lacked the skills to compete in, using a boat that was not fit for purpose.

I have no sympathy for the man himself - he's a prime candidate for a Darwin Award, yet I feel extremely sorry for the wife and son he left behind. And for what.

I'm not wasting any more of my time reading about a fella I'd punch in the head.