A Safe Place

John Lewis. The smooth swish of the escalators, the white linen, neatly folded, the very white bone china in simple pale grey and white boxes, the friendly staff, the odd bits of household equipment you never knew you needed but which now seem imperative to your happiness....ahhhh.
I find it very soothing. In fact, I am beginning to think that John Lewis (or Peter Jones...I love the view of London from the cafe) is my 'safe place'. You know the place that therapists and yoga teachers tell you to find when they are trying to get you to relax, unclench the jaw and take your shoulders out of your ears. I'm not sure if I prefer the china department or the linens. I wonder if it is my age, or a stage in my life where a department store can evoke such a feeling of well being.
People who know me are surprised, 'I would have thought it would be a Shoe Shop, if anything.' Well, yes, it is true I love shoes, I love buying them, trying them on, going to shoe sales - but it isn't the same. I've been thinking about my sister today, she is in Khartoum, working 12 hour shifts in a huge cardiac unit, the heat is so unbearable she says she has forgotten what a chilly drizzle could possibly be. She is out there as a nurse for Medicine Sans Frontiers, she is incredibly brave and I admire her hugely. I am also grateful that I have never had the slightest wish to do what she does. Where she is working is probably the least safe place on the planet you could fine.
When she gets back, I'm taking her on the tube to Sloane Square, I'm going to lead her through the quiet coolness of Peter Jones and I'm going to buy her the largest, gooiest cake and biggest cappuccino I can find. In the meantime, I'm checking the sales and buying an extending mop and four perfect white bone china bowls.