My happy place

For as long as I can remember, David Jones has been my happy place. The glamour of it. The theatre. Resident pianist Michael Hope on Elizabeth Street. The enveloped café and dining on retail floors. The chocolate-dipped strawberries. The overpriced fruit and vegetables.

RIP.

I truly entered a period of mourning when the Market and Elizabeth Street stores merged to create one flagship monolith of confusing customer wayfinding and terrible elevator sequencing. The Christmas Store on Level Eight never made sense to me. Stunning view, though.

But today, my black and white houndstooth heart goes out to every black-clothed, full-faced and blow-dried loyal DJs employee wondering what this week will hold for them. Their families. Their lives. At the most wonderful time of the year, this news couldn't come at a more unfortunate time.

Perhaps now, there really was no other store like David Jones.