Angry and unapologetic: why I had to join women marching on Washington
My first real indication that there was something wrong with the world was when I was seven. It was around that age that I realised the world was not going to be a series of ballet classes, Barbie doll sleepover parties and pony club gymkhanas.
One evening while my brother and I were watching a TV show on the old black and white telly, a man was thrown into a jail cell while screaming: "I am innocent, let me out."
I asked my brother what was going on. He explained that the man had done something wrong and was going to jail "forever".