It's difficult to think of many other leading players in the current Formula One era whose memoirs would be more eagerly anticipated, with the possible exception of Bernie Ecclestone (and unfortunately I can think of a whole lot of reasons that Mr. Ecclestone might be disinclined to pen his life story, but not a lot of things that would inspire him to get typing).

So has Murray delivered the goods? On the whole, yes he has. One always has some preconceptions about a book before they read it, and in this case, I was expecting an overwhelming emphasis on Murray's commentary career, padded out with a few odds and ends about his childhood and life away from the track. As it turned out, I was quite some way off the mark.

Obviously, Murray's work with the microphone is the centrepiece of 'Unless I'm Very Much Mistaken'; after all, that's what ultimately made him a household name in so many parts of the world. But other aspects of Murray's life – his childhood, his time in the army, his career in advertising which overlapped with his commentary work for so many years – are all covered in as much detail and with as much care as the racing-related material.

This may provoke a 'who-cares' response from some readers because it is, after all, the motorsport stuff that we're most interested in. But the ultimate purpose of an autobiography is to tell you something of the nature of the person it is about, rather than simply reel off anecdotes and a career chronology for 300-odd pages, and it's surprising just how common it is to encounter memoirs that fail to do this. (Biographies are, in theory, meant to do the same thing, and they have an even greater failure rate).

But this book changed my preconceptions of who Walker is as a person, preconceptions that were based, as they are for the vast majority of his readers, upon what I gleaned from years of listening to him on the television. The 'TV' Murray – light-hearted, over-excited, infectiously enthusiastic – is there alright, but the book revealed a sense that all this was underpinned by an altogether more determined and thoughtful man who took himself and his job very seriously indeed. That Murray achieved so much and lasted so long in the commentary box was no more an accident than his tremendous success in the advertising world, and upon reading his book you begin to develop a picture of why.

Walker writes much like he speaks, so this is a very easy book to chug through. That was expected, but what came as more of a surprise was that by and large, Murray has avoided an excessively rose-coloured depiction of people, places and events that popped up during his career. Another review of this book complained that it wasn't enough of a 'tell-all', and if that view is shared by many others then I wonder whether they may have missed the point.

Walker is typically more than generous when writing about people or things that he found appealing, but he was also honest. If he doesn't like someone, he tends to say so and then get on with the story without dwelling on it too much – particularly if they are a racing personality. That, to me, seems about right, but then I've never been much of a fan of mud-slinging for the sheer sake of it.

There are plenty of highlights, and choosing just one standout is nigh on impossible. Worthy of mention, though, is this excerpt from Walker's war years, which describes what he called "one of the most emotional experiences of my life."

"Times arose when we had to let other unites leap-frog through our positions so that we could refuel, take on fresh ammunition, and eat. You stopped by the supply vehicles and then there was a flurry of activity: humping five-gallon jerricans up to the engine compartment and sloshing petrol into tanks, passing shells and ammo boxes up into the turret, maintenance work – sort of a tank pitstop.

"Sitting on the turret with my legs dangling inside while my troop was on its way to one of these, I saw a group of four men in army uniform and idly thought that one chap looked just like my father. As we got closer I realised to my amazement that it was my father: he may have been in battledress and wearing a khaki beret but his stance was unmistakable and to clinch it he was smoking the inevitable pipe.

"At the time he was editor of Motor Cycling, and had got himself accredited as a war correspondent with the express intention of finding me, which he'd done. Needless to say it was wonderful to see him but there wasn't any time for more than a short conversation because I had to get back into action." (p. 40).

A touching account, topped off by the inclusion of a photo of the moment among the shots contained between the covers.

It's hard to think of any negative to say about the book, apart from a few spelling mistakes that only an Australian would pick up (Mark Scaife should be spelt 'Skaife', and 'Crowne Plaza' in Melbourne is actually Crown Casino).

'Unless I'm Very Much Mistaken' is not one of the world's great literary works. In fact, it's probably not even among the all-time great list of motorsport titles. What it is, though, is a good, honest autobiography that more than achieves its aim of painting a portrait of Murray's life in a chronological sense while also revealing something of the man himself. It was a pleasure to read, it was enlightening, and I don't think that any of Murray's fans will be disappointed with it.