I know what it’s like to stumble off the detox wagon, Kate

It is only after you leave the sanctuary of a health resort that the challenge to stay clean, green and teetotal really begins, says one writer who sympathises with the model’s recent fall from grace


Kate Moss and I have little in common (apart from cheek bones to die for, almond-shaped eyes and a waiflike physique, that is), and the übermodel and multi-millionairess is not someone I’d ever expect to have much sympathy for. But this week, once I’d got over the shock that she flew easyJet (you can take the girl out of Croydon …), I’ve been feeling rather sorry for her. Tabloid headlines such as ”Kate Mess’’ and ”Moss’s mile-high meltdown’’ have seemed an overreaction to say the least.

As the whole world now knows, Kate allegedly got intoxicated and aggressive on a flight back from Turkey, where she had been celebrating her friend Sadie Frost’s 50th birthday at a favourite detox retreat in Bodrum. (That was another shock: the former queens of the notoriously raunchy Primrose Hill set celebrating a birthday by detoxing?)

There have been numerous explanations proffered: the food trolley ran out of sandwiches; she was refused alcohol; she was quaffing the Duty Free vodka in her hand luggage; fellow passengers were taking unflattering pictures of her on their phones. It has also been suggested that Moss simply fell foul of a crew overexcited at the presence of the world’s best known cover girl. Indeed, others on-board the flight said the ”fracas’’ was all very good-humoured. Whatever: the result was that Moss was escorted off the plane by police when it landed in Luton last Sunday and a tsunami of hyperbolic articles followed. Moss is clearly incapable of staying on the health wagon, carped the critics: as soon as she leaves an expensive detox retreat she can’t help but hit the bottle. Or “retox” as afficionados call it. As someone who has recently retoxed, in an equally undignified fashion, I have a particular understanding of the phenomenon.

Kate Moss in party mode at Jonathan Ross’s bash in 2014 [REX FEATURES]

For me it all started with a failed dry January. I’d overindulged at Christmas, both on brandy and turkey, and was looking festively plump as I entered the New Year. Dry January would be the perfect way to shift the pounds. Things were going swimmingly until a friend invited me to Morocco – a ‘dry’ country – for the weekend. One Piña Colada and the next thing I knew, we were two bottles of red down and on our way to being roaringly drunk.

It got worse over the following months and I was increasingly out of control. I drank most nights. A stressful Monday, and it wouldn’t be uncommon for me to polish off a bottle of Chapel Down Bacchus Reserve (excellent, by the way). A stressful Tuesday would result in the same story. And Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday. And Sunday, too, as I contemplated the stressful week ahead.

Crisis point was reached in mid-April. My mother sat me down and voiced her concerns. I cried, but agreed and we decided that we should go to a detox camp together to get ‘summer body ready’. After a bit of Googling, we settled on the Ti Sana resort near Lake Como in Italy, opting for the Healtheatarian GOLD 10-day course, a €3,999 (£2,922) extravaganza that was designed to “Boost your energy levels and positive thinking with an inspiring mix of healthy food, treatments and exercise”.

Like Moss’s stay at The LifeCo retreat in Bodrum, our detox menu featured juicing diets and multiple massage therapies, as well as optional daily exercise classes including yoga, walks and meditation. And like Moss, I imagine, by the end of our 10-day stay (three days juicing, seven on a strictly vegan diet), we felt like new women. I had lost 10 1/2lbs, 10cms around my hips, 7cms around my waist, and 3cms around my thighs. My mother seemed to have shrunk all over. We were calm and cleansed, with bodies that, henceforth, would be treated like temples. We were absolutely confident about embarking upon a new healthy life. Nothing would get in our way.

A fellow detoxer at Ti Sana, and a veteran of spas all over the world, told me that every single time she vows to turn over a new leaf – but can never resist that welcome glass of champagne in First Class on the way home. Another detox alumni, who spent a week deep-cleansing body and soul at a resort in Spain, had equally good intentions. “It was a fantastic week. We had sugar-free/fat-free/salt-free/gluten-free vegetarian food, plus lots of exercise. We had tutorials on how to keep up the good work. But once we got to Malaga airport, our flight was delayed and, well, we all just headed straight to the bar.”

I actually made it back from Milan to London without any problem. We had vegan snacks for the journey and my mother and I kept each other off the booze, inspired by frequent trips to the lavatory to check on our svelte, bloat-free profiles in the mirror. No, my spectacular fall from grace happened three weeks later – three weeks when I’d lived an exemplary clean and green and alcohol-free life – at a friend’s wedding. I was sure one iced strawberry daiquiri wouldn’t hurt. One probably wouldn’t have. Five, however, did. By the time we sat down to the delicious wedding supper, I was feeling pretty merry. By the speeches, I was properly drunk. And by midnight, after several Sambuca shots and spending a good hour trying to snog the bride’s brother, I had passed out underneath the gift table. #Classy. However, from this mortifying experience, the hangover from hell and all those euros spent on the detox, I have learnt my lesson.

So here are my top five tips for retoxing without getting arrested. Kate, listen up.

  1. Following your detox retreat, get to the airport late. Check in and head straight for the departure gate. No Duty Free or bars/cafés. Sleep – or pretend to – during the flight so nothing bad will pass your lips.
  2. Take a (flattering) picture of the new, reinvigorated you and stick it on the fridge/all mirrors. Make it the screen saver on your phone for good measure.
  3. Tell anyone who will listen about the joys of detox and how marvellous you feel. This will put pressure on you to live up to it.
  4. Write down all the compliments you receive about your weight loss, glowing skin and general fabulousness and read them to yourself every night.
  5. Promise yourself that, in public at least, you will not deviate from healthy conduct. If you really need to retox, do it in private.

The Selfie Stick

This article was first published on The Telegraph website!

The Selfie Stick! All hail to the Selfie Stick! What a joy it was waking up this morning to find the papers brimming with stories about the brilliant inventions. ‘This year’s Christmas stocking essential’ said one, ‘The must-have gift’ chimed another. Yes, yes. And hear, hear! Welcome – finally – to the party.

I first saw the Selfie Stick while on holiday in Singapore – and knew instantly that I had to have it. I bought one within an hour, and since then have been using the stick non-stop. Perfecting, if you will, all the different types of selfies one can achieve with it.

There are two types of stick: one is an extendable pole (where you have to set your phone on a timer to take pictures) and the other is installed with Bluetooth (this connects your phone and camera with the stick and you can take pictures automatically). Though the first option is cheaper, the second option – which I bought – is better. Who wants to wait on a timer for a selfie?

Now rather a dab-hand with the device, here’s my guide to some of the snaps you could be shooting this Christmas, if Saint Nick is kind enough to put one in your stocking.

1) The ‘having a good time’ selfie

A more flattering (because it’s further away from your face) take on the classic ‘having a good time’ selfie. In this shot, make sure that the actual stick is out of frame. You want it to look like there is no aid; that this is a normal hand holding your phone ‘natural’ snap. Tilt the stick to a 75 degree angle, extend the metal rod to about 30 centimetres, then turn away from the camera. When you’re ready, start laughing – swish back to face camera and click.

2) The ‘group’ selfie

One the whole family can enjoy! For this shot you can have the stick in or out of frame, but extend it to its full length (about a metre). Then tilt up, steady the hand and shoot! It’s best in this selfie situation to alert the group – or you’ll, as in this snap, get a few at the back out of focus.

3) The ‘dining’ selfie

At last, a way to get a real memento of the dining experience. You, your neighbour and an aerial view of exactly what you’re eating. Perfection. For this shot, the stick will have to be in frame. This actually works quite well as the camera focuses more on the stick and therefore casts a softer – and more flattering – light on you. Hold the selfie stick almost directly above you, make sure that you’re all in frame, take your elbows off the table – god forbid they should be there – and voila!

Bon appétit!

4) The ‘launch from behind’ selfie

​This is a fun little selfie number. You hold the stick from above, rather like a fishing rod, and cast it into the selected crowd. To achieve this shot, you must have a firm grip on the stick, so that it a) doesn’t wobble and b) doesn’t whack someone over the head.

If pulled off properly, however, it’s one of the best shots out there. Just look how happy they all are!

5) The ‘spin’ selfie

​The ‘spin’ selfie is a tricky number to master, but when you do, it’ll be worth the wait. We’re getting to a professional selfie stick level with this shot. Don’t feel like you need to launch in with a shot like this – build up gradually. Extend the stick to three quarters of its length, make sure the plastic holder has a secure grip on your phone and then start to spin. Start slow, then move faster – but snap away continuously through the rotations. You should end up with you in focus and a beautifully blurred background.

6) The ‘from below’ selfie

​A devious little number, which the paparazzi will probably love, the ‘from below’ selfie should only be used when with a circle of very good friends – who are all wearing trousers. It’s an interesting angle and, if you commit to it, can have some flattering and fun results. But, to reiterate, this should not be used outside of the confines of your home!

So there you have it! Should a selfie stick be in your stocking, you’re now prepared. Enjoy it and remember – always respect your selfie!

Look who’s back, back again…

So returning to these online pages didn’t really happen, did it? Well, New Year, new attempt…

Here’s a digest of some of the bits I’ve been writing over the last few months. I was the nominated misery guts over the festive season – so prepare for some negativity.

Why I hate, are you the …from hell?, the curse of the…? They are touch in cheek, of course. Not that the commentators ever take that onboard. But hey, what’s journalism without trolls? The two go hand in hand…

The glory days of Fleet Street, pure print and no criticism. Well, that was a long, long time ago…

Anyway, I’ll post up some of the stories now…photo

Journalism took over, but now I’m back

Hi Audley Chronicle.

It’s me. Alice. The one who used to write here a lot. Like, pretty much every day. And now has left you rotting in the ether – despite paying for the domain name. What a waste.

Anyway, the reason for the lack of content, the failure to put fingers to keyboard, is because my witterings were being published elsewhere.

I started this blog to get into journalism. And it happened. A means to an end – and all that malarkey. But, as I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t realise how much I would love it – and eventually miss it. So, though it’s not New Year, I’ve made a resolution. I am returning to the Audley Chronicle. To the routes. Heck, I may even start a YouTube channel.

That’s what’s going to be happening. Here is a breakdown of what has happened.

In July, I had my big break in the newspaper. I was the first journalist to fly with Carol Voderman. She, quite literally, launched my writing career. It was just going to be online, but then ended up being a full right-hand lead…and, wait for it, on the blooming’ front cover. BEST DAY EVER!



Pretty schwwwweeeet. Here’s the link to the story: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/aviation/10954486/Commencing-countdown-Carol-Vorderman-takes-to-the-skies.html

Anyway, after that, I had finally broken the writing wall and was allowed to go off and live the dream. Write, write, write. But, as it always the way, when you’re off doing so many things, you run out of time. You have to make sacrifices – and I was writing, and getting that writing fix, elsewhere. So the urge to write here…the guilty pangs of not updating…subsided.

But now, I am no longer always behind the desk. No, I wasn’t fired. This does kind of sound like it’s going down in that vein…No, I have just changed careers within journalism. I am a writer! I write for a living. Wahoo! Also, other things, but I’ll fill you in on that in due course…

So, what else has there been? What other literary adventures have I been on? Quite a few…

Most recently though was a trip to Paris to interview will.i.am…



Link above.

Anyway, that’s a very brief overview. But, really, the point of this blog is to say ‘hello’ and that I’ll be on here again. I will be updating. I will be active. This will be the diary of my adventures…stay tuned.

Ta X

Office bugbears: what annoys you at work?

Hmmmmn. An interesting one this morning. Being asked to write about what annoys you about work and your colleagues. Rather a poisoned chalice…

An article to land you in hot water if ever there was one. But work is work. If you’re commissioned to write something, then you have to write it.

So, dear reader, here it is. What one finds annoying at work: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/comment/10824744/Office-bugbears-what-irritates-you-at-work.html


The #nomakeupselfie

Social media nominations have exploded in 2014. January was dogged by #NEKnominate; the ridiculous pint-guzzling game (‘neck’ a drink and ‘nominate’ a friend to do the same) which, within two weeks, plagued all public forums and quickly escalated from drinking beer to ingesting lethal concoctions of spirits –claiming the lives of five.

In February, a group of South Africans replaced the dangerous trend with the #RAKnomination; where you showed a stranger a ‘random act of kindness’.  From baking cookies for the elderly to paying for someone’s supermarket shop, RAKS soon peppered Twitter feeds and Facebook threads. But they too, as of last week, have been replaced.

The end of March has brought with it a new social media sensation – the #nomakeupselfie (a picture of oneself wearing no make-up and then texting BEAT to 70007 to donate £3 to Cancer Research UK – then nominating someone else to do the same). ‘Finally using a social media trend to make a real difference’, I thought as my newsfeed brimmed with bare faces. Good on them. Well done.

But then I was nominated.

Now, a quick snap sans make-up sounds easy enough. Scrub off the slap and take the selfie. Simple. I thought the same… until I removed my face paint, looked in the mirror and then back at the picture of the girl who had nominated me. She had no make-up on and looked absolutely stunning. Yes, yes, I know, the whole point is to raise money for people suffering from a hideous and cruel disease, it’s not about looking good. But, as I scrolled through my Facebook feed, I realised it wasn’t just her that looked like they’d walked off the catwalk. These weren’t #nomakeupselfie [s], these were #seehowgoodilookwithoutanymakeuponselfies.

Bright-eyed, long-lashed, flawlessly-skinned – was this really what my friendship group look liked naturally? I took my first selfie, yuck. Another, cripes. One more, my goodness it was grim. Before I knew it, I had racked up 23. Not one of which would I have shown a friend, let alone shared on a public  forum.  Was I really so much rougher than my peers?

I thought about it long and hard…but then started to notice some similarities between these glossy pics of my friends. Trends within the trend. An hour and lots of research later, I’d created the perfect guide. So if you’re, like I was, scared of the #nomakeupselfie – do not fear! With these tricks, you’ll be sorted:

Photo: Thanks for the nomination bex and Jewers! Tilly Coles, Camilla McConnell, Anna Webster and Olivia Crane - you have 24 hours :)




How to: Tramp Chic

They may look like they’ve been dragged through a bush backwards, but don’t be fooled – this unkempt look actually takes time. Dressing down and emulating the Caras, Ritas and Kristens of this world is no mean feat. Be warned, it takes a lot of effort to look like you’ve made none. Still keen? Well here are my top 10 tips, inspired by three years at the University of Leeds, on mastering the #noeffort look.


1 First things first. Put that Jack Wills gilet in the bin. You may have lived in it for the last five years, but your public school days are behind you – and must stay that way. You need to look, smell, nay ooze the impoverished vibe. And everyone knows that gilet cost you £115.


2 Get down to a charity shop asap. Keep your eyes peeled for the oversized Eighties throwbacks. Bright geometric shapes, tick. Huge holes, tick. Knitted monstrosities, tick. Item of clothing someone died in, big fat tick.


3 Burn your loafers. No-one in their right mind can master #noeffort in loafers. I repeat – torch them. Instead, get online and design yourself a pair of super-sweet high-tops. The more in your face the better. Lime green and purple? Super sick blud. You could even get your name embellished on the back, or, better still, some drug slang. A ‘Meow’ on each foot. You know, like ‘Meow, Meow’ – nothing says ‘street’ like Class B narcotics.


Throw that TRESemmé away, you won’t need it. Shampoo is now a thing of the past. You’re not going to pull off a top knot with silky locks now are you? Matted, dank and veering towards mini-dreads is the wig you’ll require to fit in. Remember – the hairdresser, scissors and conditioner are now your foes.


But good news – you have a new friend! Say welcome back to the scrunchie. Grab your lank lid and whack it in one of these bad boys. The higher on your head, and the messier, the better.

Though not part of one’s physical wardrobe, one’s voice is still part of one’s appearance. You must kill off any enunciation. The nonchalant drawl is your new tongue. You may have gone to Eton, but you must now speak like you come from the ghetto. Defer to words such as ‘maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaate’, ‘siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick’ or ‘Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet’ if you find yourself ‘rutting’.


Time for the skip again. This time for your trousers. Bye bye bootleg. Trackies (tracksuit bottoms) and skinny jeans are in. But – and this is essential – they must have a waist that is at least 8 inches too big. This is, of course, because you don’t wear them around your waist. You don’t even wear them around your hips. No, trousers must be fastened below your backside. You need to have the entirety of your boxer shorts on show –you’ll be quite literally dressed down. Ace.


Make-up. Heroin-chic, is what they called it. When you’ve slept in make-up and been too wasted to wash it off. That’s what your make-up needs to look like all the time. Big dark smudges of eye-liner (both above and below the eye) and clumpy mascara – which should never be removed, just added to. So fit.


Fags. You may not be a smoker, but to complete this look you need to be. Marlboro Lights? I hear you say. Don’t be crazy – Camel Blues would be a pushing it. No, for this look, you need to hit up the rollies. Get that pack of baccy and rizlers and roll up people. Preferably by a bus stop or some other form of public transport – that way as many people as possible will see you. You’ll look so sweet.


10 Finally the key to the ‘so rich you look poor’ look is a tiny ring. Yes, you may look like your homeless, but you need to remind people that this drab metamorphosis is one of choice, not finances. Tah da! Introducing the signet ring! Whack this on your little finger and *taps nose* everyone will know that you are an heir to a whopping estate, have a pad in High Street Kensington and when in London love nothing better than a good ol’ night in Bodos.

The chaos of being cack-handed

Hello Y’all.

I’m back. Throughout my life, I have struggled with the condition of left-handedness. Scissors, wrist ache, travelling in India (where you can only eat with your right hand) – it has been difficult. 

However, yesterday, my gammy hand finally provided some use. I was the only left-handed writer on the features desk of The Telegraph…which meant…I got to write! It’s been a while.

So here it is – another link! Hope you enjoy :)


Secretly Starving – the dark world of anorexia blogging

Well hello there.

It has been a while, a long old while – but I finally have an urgent and incredible post to bounce back with.

An article crafted by one of my colleagues here at the Telegraph. Not just any article – a 4,000 word stormer on the underbelly of the blogosphere. Quite literally – Hunger Games.

This is investigative journalism at its best: shocking, factual and thought-provoking. I’m not going to harp on about it too much…read it for yourself. You won’t regret it.

I hope that one day I can write something half as good as this:


And for the safety and awareness of fellow bloggers, or those who you think could be vulnerable to the destructive clutches of the virtual world – please share (if not the blog, then the link).


“The rule you must follow,” my colleague said vehemently, “is never to read below the line.”

She was referring to that little space between the end of your article and the comment box. That line where, if you keep above, you are blissfully ignorant of what lurks below. But alas, I’ve always been curious. A ‘don’t touch the hot plate – and I touch it’ kind of girl. So I didn’t listen to the wise words and my gaze dropped below the line…the dreaded line, the vile pit of evilness, the hurtful chasm of crassness…

It’s an occupational hazard, trolling. Just like here in the blogosphere, in the newspaper world the veil of anonymity brings out the worst of humanity. Well the online newspaper world, oh to work in the bygone era of paper, where ink and tree in harmony be.

Anyway, here is the article in question…written about this new breed of phone etiquette. Girlfriends when they are WITH their boyfriends by the phone (not busy) and they get the boyfriend to pick up. Not when the boyfriend is doing a favour, taking a message. This seems to be most of the trolls misconception.

So I pass you over to the article. Feast your eyes on the mean words of strangers…no filter.


Peacocking much? When did boyfriends picking up their girlfriends’ phones become OK?

A new trend of women letting their boyfriends pick up their phone to their friends has left Alice Audley far from entertained. Is she the only one?

When did the phenomenon of relationship peacocking become the norm?

When did the phenomenon of relationship peacocking become the norm?