I see a room. Low ceiling, black walls, dimly lit by pillars of light. the pillars of light are single spotlights that hang down from holes in the ceiling. Holes in the ceiling through which rain is pouring, down, creating pillars, to the floor. The water constrained by raised drains. The room becomes alive when it rains, the pillars breathing life into the air, the water absorbing the stale smoke. Their sound immersing the room. I see it. This is what English architecture should give us. Quiet understated joy.