Meeting of the Rubble Club, 20 June 2008

Hello Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling welcoming you once again to your friendly Friday pet rock fanciers meeting. I can only just squeeze you in, and all the chairs are taken (except mine, which I guard with my life). The Undergrowby gnomes (the Growbies) and their pet rocks have been here since early morning, chomping away on my world-famous rock cakes and comparing specimens. I have already had to bake two extra batches, and my kettle has been on the go non-stop.
The Rubble Club has never been so popular. It seems there is a sudden rush of interest amongst pet rock owners due to the strange phenomenon of pet rocks budding and giving birth left, right and centre. Mysteriously, there is a pet rock population explosion. There must be something in the air here in Blackpool that leads to mischief. Even aged dust gathering pet rocks have arrived at today's meeting bearing newly-hatched young. Their confused owners have come to the meeting to show off their new arrivals, only to find my parlour overcrowded with more of the same. I tell them, and I tell you, I have had nothing to do with it, I have done no magic spells, put nothing unusual in my pet rock buns or meddled with the forces of nature in any way which might create this mayhem. Well, why would I? As you know, I have enough orphans of my own to deal with.
If you want someone to blame, blame Mother Earth. She is a meddlesome woman, much after my own heart (and like myself, a cake-baking genius). In Undergrowby, it is taken for granted that she has a hand in most birth miracles, invisibly, from her strange, warm, dark home down the Empty Hole in the middle of The Hub. We never see her, but we hear her clattering her pots and pans on baking day. To cheer her up and let her know we are grateful for her services to roots, foundations and birth miracles, we whisper fond messages and private confidences to her down the Empty Hole and we erect the maypole noisily in the Hole above her head once a year to make sure she gets up out of her winter cocoon, like the rest of us have to. She is invisible of course, in common with yourselves, you who are out there magically in cyber space, yet apparently capable of being in my parlour at the same time. Perhaps one of you is Mother Earth cleverly disguised as a Rubble Clubber, which would explain perfectly the sudden rise in pet rock birth rates. If I could only see you, I would follow each and every one of you home and watch if one of you disappears shiftily down the Empty Hole with one of my secret recipes under her arm.
In short, I have no idea what is happening, but if any of you would like to adopt one of these single parents, please come to the Magic Wand Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool and sift through the crowds of them patiently waiting for new homes. While I have been talking to you, the Growbies have been slipping away back to their everyday business, their pockets stuffed with rock cakes, "accidentally" leaving dozens of their single parents behind, cluttering up my mantelpiece and windowsill so there is no room for my own little darling rockies to breathe. If this goes on I will have to create a new show category for these rare new single parents, to encourage the more competitive amongst you to adopt them.
After all, it might be the only chance some of you will ever have to win one of my red rosettes at the annual show. I usually win all the others, as you probably might guess.
I now have an announcement for someone who knows who she is. Your prefect's badge is ready and waiting impatiently to be pinned onto your best frock.
And now, another announcement. I would like you all to know I have baked a batch of pet rock cakes from wholesome pet rock-friendly ingredients, (rubble, sand, grit, floor-sweepings, etc.), to sell in the shop for those of you with no talent or inclination to bake for your rocky little friends. Each cake will provide a lifetime of delicious food for an army of pet rocks. Just crumble a little tiny bit off the bottom of the cake into your pet rock's personal dish and watch its eyes light up. It will recognise the world-famous Dumpling magic smell immediately, and be remembering the happy times it had here guzzling away with friends every Friday in my parlour. Go on, Rubble Clubbers, turn your pet rockery's catering section into a nostalgic little patch of heaven with a Madge Dumpling original rock cake. A word of advice though, Rubble Clubbers,...Hands off! The cake is not for you, it is for your pet rock. Humans would not thrive on them, in fact your digestive systems are so fragile, you would be poorly if you ate too many, or any at all in fact. Pet rocks however, have the stomachs of a mountain and nothing less than my crunchy magical recipes will ever truly satisfy them. If you want one of my recipes, you only have to ask. I am not mean.
What's that smell? Burning? I have to go and attend to my oven now, or the latest batch will be ruined. My invisible door will be open again next Friday, so until then, I remain your faithful friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.