The writing takes an almost autobiographical turn as Sinclair starts to unravel the stories of some of those around him. As a result it becomes possible to start seeing how the environment of London impacts some of those that are perhaps more open towards its power.
So you get artists living in bunkers and performance artists collecting dust from old warehouses. These people are portrayed with a good mix of fondness and detachment. Sinclair doesn't allow himself to always get dragged along with every passing fad but as a result of opening himself up to some of them he manages to meet some interesting writers and artists.
One of the points that you feel he is making, particularly with the artist in the bunker, is that while it is easier perhaps to concentrate on the large Henry Moore pieces that litter the landscape of the capital it is perhaps underground both literally and metahporically where just as much energy and interest lies.