Amis's late novels are professionally adequate, and little more; you feel that they were written mainly to keep the household cauldron boiling, or to keep his name in the news, more than from any particular creative urge. The moustache in question belongs to a journalist man of letters who is commissioned to write the life of an ageing novelist (who has some traits of Amis himself, including snobbishness and a tendency to be disagreeable). Of course there's a love/sex interest, otherwise who would buy Amis? Readable enough after a fashion, if your expectations are not pitched too high.