I liked it, but I don't think it was quite as brilliant as some of the reviews say.
There was a very seventies sitcom aspect of unreality about the bank loan manager story, despite the slight edginess of his being investigated for sexual harrassment. In London, it's very unlikely that you would, having gone for a bank appointment, then run into the bank guy at some expensive retreat in the country, who then spouts a bunch of supposedly profound and vulnerable claptrap at you (the cups and dishwasher come to mind).
And then he turns up at the end in her cafe to give her the loan. Given the number of customers she has, I'd say he was a bit late anyway.
The writing was almost good enough for Phoebe Wotsit to get away with this, but not quite.