Everywhere you look there are varnished wooden doors, shiny wooden balustrades and polished wooden veneer. It still contains most of the original rooms and a veritable hive of discreet nooks and crannies. On the first floor there are two water fountains recessed into the wall with bulbous sinks like ceramic udders, off-set by splash panels of beautifull multi-coloured glass tiles. Near these, and at the edge of one of the galleries, stands this large, ectomorphic, glass topped wooden desk that looks like the bulging control panel of a rocket ship from some 50’s sci-fi film. It’s weird to think that such a commanding piece of furniture was originally the work space of some fawning functionary (and a cursory browse through the open drawers shows that it may still be!). 

But the one thing that I found most appealing was the toilets on the very top floor just off the oval shaped council chambers. Their close proximity to a room of ‘power’ led me to believe whole-heartedly that they would have been used exclusively by the duly elected ‘members’. So, as is my want, I started to pretend that I was a vastly overpaid local poo-bah in 1951, caught short just before an important vote on giving myself a pay rise. The smell upon entering was close, ancient and water-musty. Had it changed one iota since the place was built? The mood of this reverberating little corner was calming indeed – it’d need to be with all the important decisions I was going to make in the near future. 

I’d entered a tiny time warp driven exclusively by smelly bodily functions! 

However, I was jolted back to reality by some ridiculous psuedo-hip-hop shouts of louts and layabouts from the courtyard outside and I remembered that my friends awaited downstairs. I reluctantly drew myself away from my glorious porcelain past and into the hum-drum tawdry present.