I’ve already praised the views within Rayners Lane. The views without are a different kind of treat:
The ticket hall resembles a ginormous cube, studded with dozens of neatly aligned rectangular windows running up each side. The building reaches to what could be described as a preposterously unnecessary height. I’m describing it as a preposterous necessity.
Not only is it stylish, trim and full of character. It also possesses Tardis-like qualities – and I mean that in the true sense of the word, family sci-fi fans.
In other words, when the ticket hall is viewed externally and then internally, it seems to exist in two different places at the same time. So much light pours in through what must number over a hundred individual window panes that, once you’ve stepped through the entrance, your surroundings seem more capacious than when you inspected them from the outside.
The grids within grids and cascades of quadrilaterals make it feel a bit like you’ve stumbled into a multi-dimensional sheet of graph paper.
Step back outside, and you wonder again how what you experienced a few seconds ago matches what you are seeing now.