I’ve never warmed to Martin Amis. I’m not sure many people have. Oh, he’s without doubt a very clever man, but the few times I’ve tried reading his work I’ve bounced off the surface and been repelled by what I’ve sensed lurking deeper. But maybe that’s my fault for reading Dead Babies, which even a lot of his fans don’t like.

There’s also the business of his massively overinflated self-perception. He considers himself one of the few Men of Letters still standing, and the deal he has with his publishers reflects that preening arrogance: there is no way that publishers will recoup the money invested in him. He is a status purchase; the literary equivalent of a statue in the garden — probably one of those crass ones of a boy pissing in the pond, since Amis fancies himself as a bit of a webel.

All of which explains my ambivalence about Money, a two-part adaptation of which started last night on BBC2. And which was highly enjoyable — almost enough to make me pick up a copy of the book. Second hand, at any rate, preferably from a charity shop. Money is Amis’s take on what Thatcher did to Britain, and it has to be said it does so very well. Mind you, I was working in advertising in London when all this was happening, cutting my teeth as a copywriter, so there’s a lot for me to wince at as protagonist commercials director John Self implodes when his crass film project is picked up by an avaricious producer and his life falls apart on both sides of the Atlantic.

Self is a grotesque boor, beautifully played by Nick Frost, the only actor that writers Tom Butterworth and Chris Hurford had in mind for their adaptation of the book. He manages to make the loathesome porn addict, drug hoover and misogynist enjoyable to spend time with, and funny for good measure. Not that he humanises Self in the mawkish/Morkish way that Robin Williams can, but you could say he holds up a mirror to the audience, which serves a similar function without seeking to ingratiate.

With a name like Jeremy Lovering, the director was born to call the shots on a twisted satire of unpleasant appetites running riot, and he does so in style. Period details heighten the retro aspect with a touch of teethclenching for good measure. The visual design is strong, matched by an excellent note perfect period score from Daniel Pemberton that has echoes of the decade’s finest and trashiest tunes…it’s symptomatic of the time that many of them occupied both roles simultaneously.

Altogether then, I’m very pleased with Money. You could say it’s a bit glib, self-satisfied, but given both the source material and the author, maybe that’s to be expected. For all that, it sheds light on a decade that we can look at with new eyes in the wake of banking scandals and a new era of Conservatism, albeit hopefully toned down by Liberal Democrat influence. We shall see…and it would be good to see someone chart this new government and its Big Society with the same relish that Amis brought to Thatcherism.

All that said, there’s another take on Money that captures much of what Amis and this adaptation shoot for in just two and a half minutes. Seriously. The Flying Lizards version of the song of that name, known primarily for its Beatles version but originally by Motown mainman Berry Gordy, crystallises what those times were like in a brutal 151 seconds. Don’t believe me? Check out the video here, and see what you think…