This is not, then, a 'my life in Formula One'-type book, but rather the tale of the lengths McCarthy went to in his efforts to get there. Travel writers sometimes talk about the journey being far more interesting than the destination (although something tells me that they're not thinking of 20 hour plane flights when they say that), and this type of thinking forms the basis for this book.

You don't need rich parents to succeed in racing, but it does help. A lot. McCarthy did have rich parents for a while, but their good fortune did not really coincide with his racing efforts, and other than one occasion when Perry ran out of money and his father finally decided to finance his season on the understanding that he either won the championship or quit altogether, they had little bearing on his career.

Had Perry been given the silver spoon treatment in his youth there's no doubt that he would have achieved greater success in F1. He'd also have had a far easier time of getting there in the first place. The downside is that under those circumstances this book wouldn't exist, which would be a real shame.

This book has already developed a reputation for being one of the funniest racing books to have hit the shelves in a long time. It's certainly rare nowadays to find a motorsport autobiography that threatens to make you laugh out loud with every turn of the page – it's not a book that you want to read on public transport, unless you want people looking at you strangely because you keep giggling.

Indeed, a few passages from the book - like the time he impersonated James Hunt in order to get an introduction to a potential sponsor, or when he clapped a couple of paper plates together and tried to get into the F1 paddock by pretending to have a pizza to deliver to Ayrton Senna - are already well-known even amongst those who haven't read the book yet.

But there's a lot more to 'Flat Out, Flat Broke' than that. McCarthy's sheer determination to succeed, always with the odds stacked heavily against him, and frequently with extra pleasantries such as the very real threat of losing his house lurking in the background, is nothing short of inspirational. You just would not believe how far McCarthy pushed to get an extra thousand pounds in sponsorship, or an introduction to a potential backer, or an excuse to get into the F1 paddock without a pass.

A clued-up young driver who is looking for a way to make that next step in their career but can't find the cash to do it could learn a lot from McCarthy (although I wouldn't suggest that they replicate some of his actual schemes!).

It works all the better because McCarthy is never preachy about how hard he slogged to get to the top of the racing mountain, possibly because I'm not even sure that he ever intended to set himself up as an example to younger drivers. He simply describes things as they were, and more often than not is extremely funny in doing so.

I often wondered whether his great sense of humour might have been a handy self-preservation mechanism, because McCarthy certainly faced some tremendous adversity, and the mental pressure alone would have reduced many others to selling their helmets and buying a set of golf clubs.

While money was a major and constant hurdle in McCarthy's efforts, it was apparently coupled with some extraordinary bad luck, usually at the most inopportune moments imaginable. McCarthy himself states that he wrote the book because, "it's unreasonable to expect, or even believe, that so much aggravation could happen to one person, just because they want to go round and round in circles," and he has a point.

Finding a passage that captures the feel of the book is difficult, because you're really spoilt for choice. In the end, I gave up and opened a page at random. This is what I got.

"I continued my search for sponsorship but, with very little money for expenses, even the search was proving tough. A little episode with Wang Computers underlined the problem. I'd been chasing them for quite a while and one day I talked their marketing manager into coming out for a lunchtime chat. My budget for this power meeting was £10 and I'd calculated that would be sufficient for the cost of our sandwiches, plus a couple of pints. However, I hadn't figured that there would be another mouth to feed.

"It was great news to find on arrival that Wang's marketing director would be joining us, but he was a threat to my wallet and I was seriously worried about my lack of cash. Anyway, they had a place in mind and I was praying it was some dingy back-street pub. They directed me as I drove across Isleworth and as we pulled up outside the best bloody restaurant in the area I knew that, like most of the stuff on the menu, I was dead meat. I put an instant plan together and hoped that I might just be able to bluff it out.

"As we sat down, I told them that I was due at Silverstone the following day and while they ordered steak a la overdraft, they were most surprised to hear that I never ate or drank the day before testing. I was surprised to hear this as well because first of all, I didn't have a car to test and secondly, I was starving. For the following hour and a half, I sat there and talked about the upmarket image of motor racing, while trying to keep my eyes off their food and hoping they couldn't hear my stomach rumble. They listened to my sponsorship pitch politely, but then it came to the moment I'd been dreading – it was time to pay.

"I'd already worked it out as £20 for the two of them and I tried not to look like someone who was suffering from haemorrhoids as I held my hand out for the bill. I readied my plan. I'd get them out to the car ahead of me, and over my 10 quid, and then secretly leave my tacky watch as a deposit for the rest.

"The marketing director, though, cancelled the transaction by holding up his hand, shaking his head, and pursing is lips. He took the receipt and then, smiling like my benefactor, slowly patted me on the shoulder, saying: 'No, no, Perry. This is my treat!'

"'Wow,' I thought, 'Thanks for the glass of tap water.' After I dropped them back at their office, I made a beeline straight to Kentucky Fried Chicken and sat there giggling as I attacked my drumstick. The Wang deal never came off though. Maybe just as well because I'd already had nightmares about a circuit commentator shouting something like: 'Look, there goes the little Wang car!'" (p. 45-46)

Any racing fan with a pulse will get a kick out of this book. It's as funny as it is endearing, and tells the tale of the eternal underdog better than any other title that I can think of.