Gobbets

Today was a day off work courtesy of one of my 'use or lose' days. I was messing around with some words, trying to put them to good use. "A poem perhaps?" I had bravely suggested to myself when I sat down at the kitchen table. The glorious rays of sunlight streaming through the patio doors had obviously immediately to set work on melting my brains, because as a result of that seemingly innocuous decision, I spent a hearty chunk of the morning wiping my nose with my sleeve as tears streamed down my face. Needless to say, those particular words have since been packed back into the box as, clearly, I am not yet ready for them.

Welcome distraction came in the form of my Chelsea Dagger ring tone. With a small sniffle I answered my phone hesitantly. It was Scottish Housemate. She suggested the theatre. That cheered me up a great deal and, later, after a light dinner reminiscent of the Frasier theme song (tossed salad and scrambled eggs for those of you not paying attention) we high-heeled it to Leicester Square. Why does no one dress for the theatre these days? That is not to say we did, in fact the heels were our only salute to that concept, but wouldn't it be fun if people still did?

Anyway, we were lucky enough to get tickets to The History Boys. It's brilliant.

Irwin: "For what it’s worth, I sympathise with your feelings about examinations, but they are a fact of life. I’m sure you want them to do well and the gobbets you have taught them might just tip the balance."
Hector: "What did you call them? Gobbets? Is that what you think they are, gobbets? Handy little quotes that can be trotted out to make a point? Gobbets? Codes, spells, runes – call them what you like, but do not call them gobbets."
Irwin: "I just thought it would be useful …. "
Hector: "Oh, it would be useful … every answer a Christmas tree hung with the appropriate gobbets. Except that they’re learned by heart. And that is where they belong and like the other components of the heart not to be defiled by being trotted out to order. "