British troops are working with the Afghan Army on a new attack on insurgents in southern Afghanistan.

Speculation mounts over the upcoming nuptials of Chelsea Clinton who is set to marry at the weekend.

A rare zebra/donkey hybrid foal has become the star attraction at a US wildlife park.

The Playboy mansion was hidden behind huge gates and a thick hedge on the hilly roads below Sunset Boulevard.

Two men ogled for a closer view outside and one pointed his camera towards the gate. I drove up the winding driveway and a voice from a speaker hidden in a rock asked what I wanted.

Hugh Hefner, of course. I was promised five minutes to photograph the playboy of all playboys. “Hef gets impatient when having his photo taken,” his publicist said. The fans stepped back as the gates parted.

“Playmates at Play,” cautioned a yellow road sign. But there were no Playboy bunnies frolicking on the grounds — only an army of gardeners and a few strutting peacocks and parrots.

The gothic-tudor building looked like an English country house, with various coats of arms decorating stained glass windows.

The options for the photo shoot were the lobby and a screening room. “Hef isn’t photographed outside,” the publicist said, catching my glance out of the window.

Reuters Entertainment Editor Bob Tourtellotte was escorted into another room for his interview and I followed.

A life-size porcelain leopard sat stretched out in beautiful light next to an Eames lounge chair and Ottoman. Vintage Playboy magazines lined bookshelves behind the chair. It seemed perfect until the publicist said Hefner’s bad back prevented him from sitting in such a low chair.

I chose two other locations – one at the bottom of the grand staircase and the other in a chair next to a chess set – and waited for the Playboy king.

A photo of Hefner posing in prayer with three women dressed as nuns sat on the piano; a Picasso hung from the wall. He once joked: “Picasso had his blue period, I’m in my blonde period.”

The 84-year-old slowly made his way downstairs, wearing his trademark silk burgundy bathrobe. I introduced myself loudly because I’d been warned he was hard of hearing. He had a friendly smile, was polite and seemed at ease in front of the camera. He was short so I positioned him on the first step and took a few frames.

A few frames later it was over and he was off to the interview. I was handed a bottle of Playboy water and shown out through the back gate. It felt more like a choreographed visit to an elderly relative, than a glimpse of an orgy den.

Flooding in Pakistan has killed more than 300 people after rains bloated rivers, submerged villages, and triggered landslides.

US Defence Secretary Robert Gates has called in the FBI to help investigate the leak of more than 90,000 classified military records.

Former Brazil goalkeeper and coach Emerson Leao has been given a 30-day provisional ban for his part in an on-pitch brawl.

A spectacular fog descends on the Australian cities, causing disruption to airports and ferries, and leaving landmarks barely visible.

About 150 people have been killed by flashfloods and bad weather in Pakistan in the last week.

<img src="http://blogs.reuters.com/photo/files/2010/07/loveparade9.jpg" alt="A rucksack is seen at the site where a stampede killed some 21 people during a festival in Duisburg July 24, 2010. REUTERS/Thomas Peter " title="A rucksack is seen at the site where a stampede killed some 21 people during a festival in Duisburg July 24, 2010. REUTERS/Thomas Peter " width="600" height="400" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-16769"

When I arrived at the scene there was no crowd, no screams, just this dark tunnel. A grimy concrete tube about the length of two soccer pitches and the width of a two-lane country road. It felt cramped and haunting even when it stood empty.

But it was not empty.

Broken bottles, ripped off rucksacks, torn-off shoes, a sleeping bag, medical gloves and thermo-blankets bore witness to the tragedy that had occurred here a couple of hours earlier. Young men in light-blue t-shirts of the security firm that was hired to look after the safety of the guests loitered at the rear of the tunnel, their faces gray from disbelief.

The throbbing base of the techno music that came down from the festival above reminded us why those, whose journey ended here, had come: to take part in what was to be the world’s biggest party. Every so often, when the base line heightened to a frenzy, elated yells of dancing revelers pierced the night. For them the party went on.

By this point the medics and emergency cars had left and taken with them hundreds of injured revelers. They had survived the stampede. Others did not. Their bodies lay behind meshed wire fences covered with blue tarpaulins to shield the scene from inquisitive eyes. More people died in hospital. By Wednesday the death toll stood at 21.

 

We picked up pictures from local photographers that showed the revelers’ desperate attempts to escape from the crush and the subsequent rescue efforts. Yes, these pictures were of graphic nature. But that’s what you need to show the extent of the disaster.

Yet, our task was to cover the aftermath.

Aftermath photography is evocative and subtle. Through pictures of objects or people that are imbued with the dew of a bygone tragedy, it reflects the horror of disaster without showing the gore. There are images of people laying flowers and lighting candles, which usually happens the following day. They come to show empathy with the victims or turn up out of curiosity. A scene of tragedy has an attraction many cannot resist. But there are also those who return to ponder on the horror they have been through.

Early on Sunday I met Heiko Hammer, a 38-year-old who sported the hallmarks of a typical Love Parade reveler: mirrored shades, bright red trainers and a combat-style jacket. He was trapped in the crowd at the rear of the tunnel when the panic broke out. “I will never forget the face of the people who managed to escape. They looked as if they had just come from war,” he said. “People who go to the Love Parade are like birds of paradise. If you trap them, they die. Why were there all those fences?” he asked.

Early on Sunday the police allowed us to enter the area behind the blue tarpaulin at the foot of a staircase, where many people tried to escape from the crowd crush. This was where most of the deaths occurred. My colleague Wolfgang Rattay had arrived there first. I met him at the exit of the small enclosure and he asked me to stay on to see what other images I could make. Wolfgang had taken the picture that was arguably the most emblematic image of this story: the outlines of bodies, painted with white paint on the pavement that was littered with the debris of the disaster. Hundreds of crushed bottles, personal belongings and disposable first aid kits.

A short rainstorm that morning had turned the dusty ground into slush.

The scene was too chaotic to extract meaningful overview pictures other than the ones Wolfgang had already taken. So I scanned the ground as I was curious to find out what distinguished this ostensible pile of rubbish from an ordinary pile of rubbish. I did not have to look hard. Sunglasses. I found dozens of mangled sunglasses. Red ones, yellow ones, pink ones. Some were heart-shaped, others had blades instead of glasses. They were cheap models, those that people wear to have fun, not to protect themselves from the sun. Each one had belonged to someone, for whom this party had turned into a nightmare. I found them driven into the ground by hundreds of feet, next to rubber gloves, a ripped-off belt buckle and trash. I took a picture of every one I could find. That was the best I could do to tell this sad story.

(Click on the above image to view a high resolution version)

A 47-year-old woman has confessed to killing her eight newborn children and hiding their bodies in a village in northern France.

British Prime Minister David Cameron has been showing off his cricket skills during his visit to India.