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:

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…


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:


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?

Blogging: An Insatiable Addiction

I’m getting annoyed.  The Audley Chronicle started out as an online portfolio of my work, which was constructed as a means to an end: blog to get a job in journalism (that’s what they told me at my post grad).

They were right. What they told me worked. I got the dream job in journalism and achieved my lifelong ambition of getting in print at the Daily Telegraph.  But, here’s the big but, they did not warn me that spending a year blogging could, and most probably would, make an addict of me. Blogging is like a drug – you get withdrawal when you can’t have it. Due to work, my time here is nigh non-existent at the moment, but don’t see that as a good thing, a success story, for my god I miss it. The ingenious road to journalism had a side effect – before I’d got there, I’d turned into a blogger. I love blogging – and not to get somewhere, but blogging for the sake of blogging.

The Audley Chronicle, as well as a currently unsatisfied addiction,  is also my hobby; a place for my literary doodles to sit, for experimentation, for comedy, fun, pictures, life. Yes, an online life, but a life nonetheless. And now this life is dwindling…I hate not being able to write here everyday, or every other day, I miss it. Alas time is waving its little clock hands at me…and I must be off. But hey, that withdrawal is slightly quenched…and before long I hope to be back here more often…

Eddie tired of not being on the blog...
Eddie tired of not being on the blog…

The Shame!

Nearly a month! The absent blogger, the runaway writer, I’m so very sorry. Indeed, this has been the longest period of time to elapse without writing since I began the Chronicle last year. But, this recent poor form, I hasten to add, is not due to lack of adventure or laziness. Oh no. Quite the opposite in fact. All cogs have been on the go for what feels like a life-time. Work, restaurants, openings, weddings, launches, it has been manic. 

But as of tomorrow, I will be on a little holiday. My first from the job, and then I promise to fill you in on everything…well almost everything. Until then, however, you can catch some of my musings at 

And if you can’t be bothered to search, here y’ar: