If only those old walls of the Brighton Centre could speak, what stories they could tell. What songs they could sing too.

Some of the most famous men and women in the world have enraptured audiences here. They include Nelson Mandela, Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair.

Those who have crooned the odd tune or two have ranged from the Old Groaner Bing Crosby to Tom Jones.

There would be times when the old walls would have shuddered on hearing the cacophony of a hard rock outfit or the nasal bleatings of a band like Dr Hook.

They might have privately thought Donny Osmond not quite up to the mark. They would have got high on all the drugs during raves and heard the low-down in back rooms during political conferences.

They would have seen the strange sight of Tory leaders wearing borrowed clothes from Marks & Spencer in Western Road after their own clothes were lost in the terrible IRA bomb blast of 1984.

They would have enjoyed the warm wit of Welshman Neil Kinnock after he was chosen Labour leader and yawned as his acceptance speech went on far too long.

Those walls would have watched keep-fit Lib Dem leader Paddy Ashdown having a crafty fag around the back.

They would have seen Labour's John Smith open the centre's East Wing a decade ago and note he had to ask the council's tourism director which party was in power.

Each winter, they would have shivered for several weeks during Holiday on Ice, an attraction that always remained the same despite different themes. They would have sweated during the summer when the curious church sects came to the city, always bringing sultry weather.

Those walls would have trembled during the huge Right to Work demos in the early Thatcher years that stopped being a riot only because the weather was so appalling.

They would have seen councillors sobbing on being beaten on election night mingled with other candidates elated at sudden swings in their favour.

The Brighton Centre was a bold, bright stroke by the council 30 years ago when suddenly there was nowhere for major conferences to go any more. It was the first purpose-built conference centre in the UK. Now it will be the first to be demolished.

Few will mourn the loss of the building itself with its ugly concrete front, the ludicrous magnetic letters announcing each event and the restaurant with the best view in Brighton, which hardly anyone uses.

The main hall was like a giant hangar and some of the private rooms at the back remarkably dowdy.

But it did its job well for 25 years. Brighton attracted the top conferences, national and international, while other resorts such as Hastings saw nearly all their hotels close.

The stars came down to the sea and sang while top women tennis players took part in tournaments.

The Dome, used for conferences long before the Centre was built, will continue to stage them long after it has gone.

It is 200 years old and may last another century or so. But the centre became too big and inflexible to last. It paid the penalty for being a pioneer.

There is a real chance to learn from past mistakes and make a building of which we can be proud rather than one which merely fulfils a purpose.

It should be possible to let Churchill Square cascade down to the sea in flowing architecture and sweep away the appalling King's West building at the same time.

We can thank the Brighton Centre for the stopgap job it did for a quarter of a century and move on to something better.