Judith Lacy's Jottings: We get to decide who will steer 'Elwood's battleship'

Part of the ceiling of the Palmerston North City Council chamber. There's a lot going on. Photo / Judith Lacy

OPINION:

Journalists find themselves in some strange possies. Trying to hide from the Armed Offenders Squad behind a small bush on a busy Whanganui road with a former British soldier for company. Getting stuck atop a pile of dirt up the Parapara Highway and having to ask said ex-soldier, who was by then a news photographer, to get me down. Standing at Dalvanius Prime's Hawera Hospital bedside as he directed me on how to take his photo.

But nothing beats lying on the floor of the council chamber gazing at the ceiling. It's busy, a hodgepodge. In silence, I contemplate the characters who have inhabited this example of brutalism architecture - who have argued, sighed, agreed, fumed, advocated, and sipped water.

There's more concrete than Sir Tim Shadbolt would know what to do with; elected members can knock on concrete instead of wood to express hope.

Thirty-eight people have put their hand up this election to get a seat around the table. The official mayoral chair, in regal red, is surprisingly comfy. Visiting groups often get to sit in it.

But am I the first to experience the chamber on my back (double entendre not intended)?

The ceiling has changed since the chamber was first used in December 1979, with seven circles of light now illuminating the room. Seven deadly sins, seven wonders of the world, seven dwarfs, seven Spanish angels - take your pick.

Brutalist architecture is plain bonkers. Wikipedia says it is an architectural style that emerged during the 1950s in the UK, among the reconstruction projects of the post-war era. "Brutalist buildings are characterised by minimalist constructions that showcase the bare building materials and structural elements over decorative design."

Let's be grateful it didn't progress to see-through toilet cisterns or insulation feature walls.

One of the two seats in the council chamber's press gallery. Photo / Judith Lacy

There are gold-ish curtains covering the concrete walls, blue bucket seats (designed for the lithe and shorter 1970s human) and the press gallery. It's a ghastly area - you are on show as you walk through the chamber and up the stairs, but once there you can't see the chief executive or mayor. Media don't like being on display and to my horror, I discovered the camera used for the council's YouTube channel extends to the media box.

"Kajah" and "Kev" have been etched into the wood of the least-used media table. I have no idea who they are, if anyone.

There are four screens in the centre of the room for elected members to view motions, results and people beaming in, plus two big screens. Members get a device they use to join the speaking queue and vote. It's one for yes, two for no, and three for abstain. Simon Cowell isn't in sight.

Nearly all the natural light comes from the two fire exits that look like warped cocktail shakers.

So, who will inhabit "Elwood's battleship" for the next three years? That's over to you. If you have brushed your teeth today, driven to work, taken the dog for a walk, flushed the toilet, or gone to the library, what happens in the concrete bunker affects you.

You don't have to rank all 33 general ward candidates or four mayoral candidates. All the world is not a democracy but in Palmy we get to decide the players for our version of theatre in the round.

This is a Public Interest Journalism funded role through NZ On Air