The Unbearable Triteness of Clam.

When dealing with a truly awful writer like Clam, it’s difficult to know where to start.

Should you begin with the self-indulgent twittering with which she starts all her “reviews”, the mixed metaphors, the sloppy sentence construction, the general air of smug tweeness which hangs over everything she writes or the general impression the entire thing was written by the Cliché-o-matic 3000.

Happily, Clam’s latest supplies all of these elements in one handy review.

True to form, Clam spends the first two pars blathering on about a friend’s birthday party at The Vic bar before lurching into the review proper.

Prizes will be offered to any reader who can work out what the blue hell she’s trying to say in this little example;

Such moments are pretty much par for the course at this friendly Abbotsford institution, whose street-front windows don't necessarily convey the warmth of the interior (from somewhere cosy to hide on a wintry night to the tones of the lighting and the cheerfulness of the staff).

How do “windows convey warmth” let alone the “cheerfulness of the staff”? There's a meaning trying to escape there, like a puppy from under a blanket, but I'm jiggered if I can make it out.

Or this;

Decked out with exposed beams and aged woods and metals, the mood isn't quite barnlike but it's not intensely "rustic" like some of its peers tend to be.

Or this;

The further back in the venue you move, the more relaxed you are - one imagines - expected to become.

You either become more relaxed or you don’t Clam and the simpering “one imagines” sets one’s teeth on edge.

Even a simple sentence like “Wines are available by the glass and a decent collection of beers are also represented” fails to convey anything useful. What wines? How much? What beers” Bottled or on tap?

At the end, the only thing we manage to get from a review of more than 400 words is;
1. It’s a bar,
2. Clam liked it and
3. They’ll pop out and get some coconut milk if required.

Gosh, thanks.