I am standing in the middle of a large, stark classroom. On the walls there are educational posters; sinks line the back. If you glanced through the window or peeked through the door you might think it’s a school science lab. But as you enter, it’s apparent that this is not a space for Bunsen burners or glass beakers.
For starters, it is very cold, like standing inside a fridge, and in place of desks, there are large, thick slabs of wood with steel legs, nailed into the floor and spaced at regular intervals. I’m wearing a white coat—not unlike a lab coat, actually—paired with non-slip safety shoes and a particularly unflattering white mesh, trilby-style hat. I am also sporting a chain-mail vest and a thick, plastic, wipe-down red-and-white-striped apron. More tellingly still, on the block in front of me are half a dozen dead pheasants. This is the butchery department, deep in the bowels of Waltham Forest College in North East London, UK, where I am the only female student.
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