LAST night, I dreamt I was walking through an urban landscape that was both familiar and unknown.

It was dusk and I was alone, but in the distance I could make out a row of figures, silhouetted against the dim glow of the street lamps as they glided hypnotically towards me. Nowhere to run.

But then – a steep escalator in a column of neon blue light travelling up into the gloom.

I stepped on and reached, in the seconds before Radio 4 switched on and the buzzer trilled for the start of the day, the new Odeon cinema.

Unlike most of the popul-ation, it’s not the credit crunch giving me nightmares – it’s Liverpool One.

There are other factors, too, of course. I at least have to accept part responsibility for eating cheese-on-toast after 7pm, and the vampire novel I was reading long past midnight won’t have helped either.

But what has tipped my dreams from cornfield skipping into full-on Edgar Allen Poe spookiness was definitely the launch of the city’s exciting new shopping district.

While I, too, am experiencing the delight and about-time-too mixture of emotions that comes with Liverpool finally getting a Wagamama and, as the Daily Post’s fashion stylist, am pleased with the explosion of stores, something is not right.

Despite living in Merseyside for most of my life, I no longer know the way around my own city. It happened to me twice last Wednesday, walking out of one shop confident of where I was going and finding myself headed in the opposite direction.

The problem is compounded by my losing all sense of perspective – Paradise Street seems wider, the former Quiggins building smaller, and Next suddenly has a back door that has mysteriously appeared like a secret route to Narnia.

Then, just as I’m finally getting my bearings, an abrupt glimpse of a Liverpool landmark – the top of the Anglican Cathedral, or the row of red lights around the top of the West Tower – in a place I was sure it didn’t belong. So, like any tourist worth her Lonely Planet guide, who has found herself in an unknown city, I headed for the highest point.

Walking across Chavasse Park is both comforting and disconcerting.

Comforting because you can see enough of the surrounding buildings to know exactly where you are – the ruddy brick of the Albert Dock seeming reassuringly close and the bright glint of the cars on The Strand like metallic fish in a second, narrower Mersey.

Disconcerting because, with the grass greener than a Haribo gummi frog and the pencil-grey glass and metal outlines of the buildings, it’s like living in an artist’s impression.

If I, a perfectly capable map reader with numerous Duke of Edinburgh expeditions under my belt (we won’t mention the one when the tent blew away along with my friend’s spare underwear and half our provisions), am finding navigating Liverpool One an alarming experience, then imagine the effect on the collective Scouse psyche.

Streets we can learn to find our way around, but how easy will it be getting used to the effect the development is having on the city’s reputation?

While I don’t buy into the “self-pity city” accusation, it’s true that we’re so used to defending Liverpool – justifying its worth to people who haven’t bothered to come and see it for themselves – that it’ll be a difficult habit to get out of.

Lots of shops won’t change the way people see the city – its reputation has dramatically changed in the past five years without a sixth Starbucks or a second Apple store to help it on its way, but it gives them another reason to visit.

Liverpool has been a giant disguised as a minnow for too long, and now that it’s finally showing off its true potential, we’d better hope the new development includes a store that sells Size 16 boots.

FOR more of Laura’s columns, go to www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk/lauradavis

lauradavis@dailypost.co.uk