The Dome is named after a certain Bert Dome who many years ago in Whitley Bay challenged a young lady to a game of ping-pong at a seaside Summer Fair.

The fact that Dome lost three games to two is insignificant compared to his falling madly in love with the damsel and marrying her. He wanted to raise a monument to this important moment in his life, but was unable to persuade the council to create a giant ping-pong ball on the sea front.

By offering to make a sizeable donation to the Seaside Councillors Benevolent Fund, Dome was able to persuade them to go half-way, which is why we have that distinctive seafront landmark today named after him.

Three weeks after the monument was declared open, Dome's wife ran off with a Seaton Sluice drainage expert, and in despair he threw himself from Cullercoats cliff tops.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) a bouncy castle on the beach broke his fall, and he spent his remaining days peeling onions in the kitchen of the Rex Hotel, an activity that disguised the sincerity of his regular and heartfelt tears.

Thus the Dome as it is today, (though fallen into disrepair). The Dome's great mate, at which it stares longingly, is St Mary's Lighthouse, also painted white. Few people realise that, the lighthouse was once (briefly) painted black (this is true), though merely as a protective sealant before the white was added on top.

No-one has since suggested painting the lighthouse any other colour, though the council has shown recent creative inspiration by bathing it in striking coloured lights at night. There is not a good history of painting white buildings another colour along our beautiful, if neglected coastline.

The Park Hotel, Tynemouth, a splendid piece of 1930s architecture boasted a striking facade before the decor vandals sploshed on the current tasteless salsa dip and mustard. It now resembles one of those so-called Fun Pubs (definition: a venue in which it is impossible to have fun).

And what of those wonderful seafront houses at the north end of Whitley Bay near the cemetery? Again, 1930s classic and resplendent in their natural white, the one solitary house apart, which for some reason has opted for a muddy grey.

Lest it be thought I am a founder member of the White Paint Appreciation Society, let me stress that white paint (along with all pastels), is more or less banned from the Mortimer house interior. Most UK homes settle for internal white walls, which is like living in a block of ice-cream. Inside, I like fierce strong colours.

But outside is different. There are few buildings that do not improve from being painted white.

Not far south, in the Barnard Castle area, almost all the rural buildings are painted white, a condition of the Lord of the manor, Lord Barnard. Very cheery they look, too, these feudal homes, dotted like snowflakes on the hillsides.

Generally in England we're hesitant about painting outside brickwork at all. A pity; in Ireland some normal looking streets are made remarkable by the different colours splashed on the exterior. But these are not Spanish City. Which is not normal looking.

So here's an idea for North Tyneside Council. Let them be inspired by their St Mary's Lighthouse experiment, and at night-time, occasionally bounce off Spanish City all manner of light shows and colour combinations, a unique attraction to reinforce Whitley Bay's plan for a future seafront cultural centre (should this recurring dream ever come about).

But a coloured Dome? Possibly for one brief indulgence; let the Dome be painted for a single week in blue and white stripes, a celebration should Whitley Bay FC's great FA Vase cup run go all the way.

That apart, the Dome is the White Lady of Whitley Bay, ethereal, a shimmering apparition, a dreamlike mirage rising up on the seafront skyline.

She is part of our collective memory, yet with us every day. She is streaked with neglect, and crying out for attention. But that attention must be white.

PETER MORTIMER