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Women are tired - and we don't know how to change things anymore

Standing by the bandstand, the first thing I noted was the scent; of candles burning, of flowers and a hundred different perfumes. Having walked the long muddy pathway through Clapham Common, flanked by a gentle flow of masked women, I’d reached the epicentre. Cards and flowers overwhelmed the site and for a second I was reminded, jarringly, of Princess Diana’s funeral. In the air was a sense of quiet sadness, but also catharsis: to be doing something – anything – after days of impotent frust

The Birdman of the Tower of London and the missing ravens

Nothing in Edgar Allan Poe’s majestic poem The Raven prepares you for their smell. But Christopher James Skaife, Yeoman Warder and Ravenmaster of the Tower of London, knows it only too well. “Ravens are quite smelly, especially babies, it’s quite pungent, and I only have a small house tucked into the walls of the Tower of London … the ravens like to walk around our house, and they poo everywhere. That was the first thing my wife moaned about.”
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