I love Martin Amis. I know it's not fashionable but I can't help it.
I love the way he writes his vile, nasty, seedy little characters well enough to make me care enough about them to actually finish the book.
Except that's a fib in this case.
A combination of illness, tiredness, staying up lateness and moving house-ness meant that I never got round to finishing Money and had to send it back to the library.
Another time perhaps?
But in this case, definitely not the fault of the author, just a crap reader!