My special place is a bricked-lined cellar, lovely dark, damp and deep. The smell of water and moss in the air. Before me is a plain wooden chair. Tied to the chair, the object of my ire. Above me to the right is a fixed light, like the type seen in the old submarine movies. The dim glow coming from it is the only source of illumination. Behind me is an old boiler. Laid out in front of it are my tools being kept warm by the flickering flame within. Mostly carpentry and medical tools, there are a few 'interesting' additions. To my left a trickle of water runs down the wall, feeding the moss that grows there. To touch this wall invites the chill from it to numb the hand. My happy place.