Meeting of the Rubble Club 16th May 2008

Hello all you pet rock lovers everywhere! This is Madge Dumpling from the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby welcoming you once again to the world-famous Rubble Club, social venue for pet rocks and their lucky owners. Are the pet rocks sitting comfortably where they can see the screen? They are very good readers and will be hanging on my every word, won't you rockies? I am glad to see your nice kind owners are seeing to your every need once again, bringing you to the Rubble Club, but then, you wouldn't have chosen them if they had looked mean, would you?
I have had some correspondence this week from that beautifully-named Linedancer again. She kindly informed me that she spotted Granny Gray, my shop assistant, wandering out and about in Blackpool, sunning herself when she should have been looking after the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road, finding homes for my pet rocks. Thank you for your spying work, Linedancer. I have had stern words with her and she has promised to do better in future. I am thinking of making you a nice prefect's badge for that, Linedancer. It might take me a while, because I am a perfectionist in my work, as you all know (unlike that Granny Gray, who apparently needs constant supervision!) If your niece Laura is half as dedicated as you she will be made a prefect too.
Right, on to business. Sunburn. In case you have been wasting money on sunblock cream for your pet rocks, I can assure you that they do not get sunburn. In fact they thrive on sunshine. It reminds them of my fireside where they were born, and it makes them relax and let their hearts expand joyfully. It also expands their memory banks, so they can remember all your important facts and figures for you. If you have a hat, perhaps you could make them a little seat at the front of it, or sew them on to it permanently for the summer months. They could do all the snooping they need to do then, and will never fear missing an outing. Granny Gray has a hat but she never thinks about choosing one with space for a few little rockies. She keeps them in her handbag though, so though they can't see much, they can listen in to her conversations. It's a shame they are more discreet than you, Linedancer, and keep all her comings and goings and juicy gossip to themselves, no matter how much I interrogate them.
While I am roaming about behind the cliff paths on Blackpool Promenade, looking for rock specimens, I see and overhear quite a lot myself. This week, I was listening in to a conversation between two humans and one of them had a laptop a bit like my own magic laptop, only bigger. They were not visiting the Rubble Club, oddly, but instead they were wasting time looking at photos of themselves writing all about themselves and their friends for the whole world to read about them. They were in a place in the spider's web called "their space". At first I thought they were just show-offs, and I was tempted to shout at them to get to the Rubble Club at once and stop showing off, but then I thought about it and I think I am going to find a space of my own somewhere to tell everyone in the world about myself (and of course you, Rubble Clubbers), and we'll call it "our space", or just "my space" if nobody else wants to join in. Just think about all those extra members we might get if only I can figure out how to do it. When everybody sees my nice pretty face and the dear little faces of the pet rocks, they won't be able to resist popping along to meet with us all on a Friday here in my invisible parlour. Perhaps we'll have to have an invisible extension built to accommodate them all.
All of you members will be able to send photos of yourselves with your little pets. You may not be as beautiful as me but don't let that put you off. Be getting your photos taken ready for when I work it all out, Rubble Clubbers. We don't want people thinking you don't exist, do we?
And now some very sad news. Grandad Gray, who plays on my magic laptop to his heart's content while I am out, says I have had three emails but he has had to delete them because at least one of them was carrying a virus, and he was afraid they would infect me with a deadly disease. I will therefore never know what they said, so if they were from you, please write back to me without including the virus. Grandad Gray fears too much for my health to allow me to dice with death reading infectious information in the line of duty. I am grateful to him.
I have a competition for you. Where do you keep your pet rocks? The one who comes up with the nicest-sounding environment for their pet rockery will win a fabulous prize, which I have not prepared yet, but you will like it, rest assured.
Help yourselves to rock buns, Rubble Clubbers, because I have to go now and mingle with the membership. Till next Friday, I remain your faithful friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.