I haven't the remotest interest in 'bringing the Walkers to justice' or charging around Europe with a lynch mob clutching receipts and pitchforks, and insisting on the Walkers proving they have recompensated everyone to whom they owe money, from the man with the garage to the owner of the shop where Sally pocketed the fudge bars.
I don't think Sally is a sociopath because she grew up killing rabbits for the pot. It's clear Tim does have some form of degenerative illness, but it seems likely to me that they retrofitted the timeline of the diagnosis, just as they concealed the real reason they lost their house, and that the likely reality is that they simply walked the SWCP as a cheap holiday rather than as a desperate measure, conceived of in despair under a terminal diagnosis when the bailiffs were banging on the door.
I am simply interested in how people fictionalise themselves when life-writing, and, finding that tissue of half-truths, rearranged timelines and poetic licence unexpectedly successful, presumably find themselves trapped by it, and/or may actually come to believe it themselves, as they do publicity, write sequels, and promote a film adaptation.
I'm actually not without sympathy for them, because I think everyone has rearranged the narrative of their own life at some point, in little ways or large, if only in conversation. It can be self-protective. This just got played out on a grandiose level. What I'd like to know more about is at what point the half-truths and poetic rearrangements crept in, and when they hardened, and how they talk about it all between the two of them, when they're alone.
No one should be doorstepping them with pitchforks. Obviously.