Stormont's Beauty's Only Skin Deep

Whatever your view on the aesthetic merits of the parts of Stormont's Parliament Buildings which are open to public view, its underbelly, where I have the pleasure of spending the majority of my working week, is like a penitentiary.
Befitting the mood of its lenghty expanse of solemn corridiors, the press officer showing this fresh fish to the imitation cell door of the pressroom, insisted on walking, in prison guard style, five metres ahead of me.
I comforted myself with the thought that the pressroom couldn't possibly be as dissappointing as the humble surrounds of the route to it - I was wrong. Inside the pressroom is worse, scrap prison cell and think Hitler's bunker.
I wouldn't fancy the chances of whoever designed this room passing GSCE architecture. Probably the most astonishing feature of the pressroom, is its solitary window which is hidden above the ceiling.
Theoretically speaking you would think that if it is above the ceiling, that would actually place it in an upstairs room, rendering the pressroom windowless. Well, if you crane your neck at a certain angle you can locate a significant gap between the lowered ceiling and wall in which there is a window pane - I wouldn't have noticed it but for a ration of sunlight spilling onto a square metre of floor.
The grim atmosphere created by the window oversight is compounded by the rooms exposed brick walls painted a gastric bile green - I was starting to consider the possibility that maybe Stormont's officers didn't care too much for hacks and wanted us to frequent the building as infrequently as possible.
Thankfully, having met a number of the press office's staff, I am delighted to report that they couldn't be any more friendly or helpful, but the fact remains that this place is not fit for purpose. My main complaint in this regard is not an aesthetic, but a practical concern - they do not have broadband internet access, unbelieveble. Apparently they offered it freely to everyone the day before when the the world's media descended on East Belfast, but when all the excitement had subsided just 24 hours later leaving only the common indigenous journalists to report on committee meetings, they expect us to use carrier pigieons, or worse, dial-up internet, to send stories back to our offices.
My five inmates, two from the Irish Times, one from the Tele, and the other from the telly, all politiely shared in my horror at this, even though not one of them appeared to have a computer.
Well, I suppose when a political beast like Stormont awakens from its slumber after over four years of hibernation, it takes a while for it to find its feet. Speaking of which, it is about to find 180 pairs of new feet as they enter into a major recruitment drive to supplement the 200 or so already employed at Parliament Buildings. Hopefully one of them will be charged with the task of freeing up internet access and maybe even giving the dungeons downstairs a lick of paint.