Cut off from their shiny train station by that menace of a landmark roundabout, the Panmure shops seem shabby and forgotten. Around the corner, however, Panmure Library offers a dramatic entrance.
The anxious doorway wants to make an impression, like a rock opera diva fallen on hard times. When Governor-General Sir Paul Reeves declared it open in 1989, the whole concrete pile was a tasteful cream. Now, with headache-inducing intensity, the entrance mismatches chartreuse green and rusty red, graffiti adorns the Nau Mai Haere Mai sign and plywood covers cracked glass.
A senior on rollerblades glided smoothly through the smoothly gliding automatic doors. I followed him inside and was surprised to find myself in a cavern so "yuge" and empty that it has echoing museum acoustics.
Seriously, where are the books? There's a piano, a three-tier conversation pit/ giant bullseye target, and enough floor space for a whole rollerblading dance troupe to perform Starlight Express. But few tomes.
Many libraries are bright and airy: Onehunga, Mangere East, and Takapuna. Others are coddling cocoons that turn your face away from the garish light of day: Epsom, the other two Mangeres. Panmure joins this Phantom of the Opera crew - the small skylights soar two storeys above the story books.
