The last time I spoke to Leven Sinclair Brown was shortly before he set off to row the Atlantic from Cadiz to Port of Spain single-handed. I didn’t tell him at the time but I wasn’t entirely convinced he would make it. The then 32-year-old stockbroker from Edinburgh had sold his flat and chucked in his job with Stocktrade.

So far, so much commitment. But a brief look at his diary showed that much of Brown’s training seemed to be taking place at dinner parties where he would meet a succession of “corking girls”.

He had liked messing about in small boats since he was 15, he said, a little alarmingly. Christopher Columbus — whose journey he was recreating — was claimed as a distant relative, through Brown’s great grandmother, Mary-Jane Sinclair of the Atornish Sinclairs.

No wonder he seemed like a nautical Don Quixote, a chubby, boaty Boris Johnson. The man could trace his lineage back several generations and knock up a cocktail but how would he cope in a 23ft-by-6ft boat in a hurricane? Apologies are in order. On Friday January 27, Brown and his battered craft, the Atlantic Wholff, entered Scarborough Harbour in Trinidad and Tobago to claim the record for the longest single-handed row across the Atlantic.

Disembarking into the arms of his parents, he wasted little time before ordering “Half a cow, some bread and chips. I’d come to dread some of the food on board. The treacle pudding in particular was akin to chewing plutonium. I also wanted a very big cushion before I’d sit down. You should see my backside.” Thanks, but no thanks. “You have no idea how uncomfortable that bench is when you’ve been rowing 12 to 14 hours a day.”

It’s three days since Brown hit land, escorted in by Desmond and Kevin, two bemused fisherman who he feared were pirates, and he is standing on a beach in the Leeward Islands trying to make sense of it all.

What was the worst moment? “It had to be the three big tropical storms. One of them, Delta, went on to kill three people and destroy a pontoon bridge in Santa Cruz. A yacht 20 miles north of us recorded winds of 70 knots. One electrical storm lasted for three days. There was lightning hitting the water 300ft away. I was so convinced that I was going to die that I penned a letter to my mum, my dad and my girlfriend. The electrics were directly above me in the cabin, so any strike would have been direct.”

How did he calm himself down? “By telling myself that, if the worst came to the worst, at least I’d get to find out what happens next.”

The range of obstacles he faced was greater than he’d imagined. Setting out on August 14, his 33rd birthday, he was forced to return to Spain almost immediately when his water purifier packed up. After restarting he found the wind against him for the first 18 of 20 days, a frustrating slog across the Bay of Cadiz.

A collision with a Spanish fishing trawler broke an oar and damaged Atlantic Wholff’s outrigging, while he narrowly missed being obliterated by a tanker. Cape Santa Maria, he renamed the Bay of One Oar, because the water was too choppy to row with two. The tiny cabin was “like being in a washing machine on spin cycle” and his swollen hands already “looked like bear paws”.

Worse was to come. Sea water destroyed some rations and the boat was almost capsized by a rogue wave, forcing him to bail out frantically. She also developed a mysterious list to port, the primary GPS system packed in, as did the sea-water filter again, leaving him without water for 36 hours.

“I have never been this thirsty before and it is a truly terrible experience,” he wrote. “Like having the mother of all hangovers while having your tongue replaced by a shag-pile carpet after downing a pint of broken glass.” On October 10, he made an unscheduled stop in Tenerife. It was a month before he was able to set off again.

“It was the most diabolical and the most wonderful experience of my life,” he says. When he wasn’t being terrified, or having to plug holes in the boat with chewing gum (“very useful stuff”), he found himself escorted by two pilot whales, or coming face to face with a killer whale.

For fresh food, he caught dorado and squid, while at night he watched spectacular meteor showers.

On Tuesday, he returns to the UK after a well-earned rest. What then? “I haven’t earned any money for six months so that’s a priority.” Has he got a job lined up? “Not really. If I have to stock shelves in a supermarket, I’ll stock shelves in a supermarket.” At least, he’ll have the skills to stave off the boredom.

Brown’s journey was in aid of The Sportsman’s Charity and Edinburgh’s One City Trust. Details of his trip and how to donate can be found at www.columbusrun.com

Times Recommends

• UK regional accents thrive against the odds
• ‘Scarecrow’ wind farms put rare birds to flight
• What an anti-climax: G-spot is a myth