Humoristic book, by a great author. For some reason, the pacing is all off. The book narrative kind of just goes along, plays out "the adventure" kind of linearly... then does not end. There's an afterbirth blimp of action. Book still goes on.

Then the author kills off the budding romance, and brings in some social conscience, and ends it on a very strange note. Mixed in with hallucinogenic dreamlike episodes of a shadow London.

This reminds me a bit of NK Jemisin "The city we became", which also is some sort of "oh I love this city so much, so does everybody, it'll be great if I just ramble in a stream-of-consciousness about the streets / buildings / neighbourhoods and quirks of it"