Rubble Club Meeting 6th June 2008

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling, your friendly, charming little chairman welcoming you once again to the world famous Rubble Club. Finally June has arrived, a lovely time for pet rock picnics in the sun, and time for me to get out my fabulous summer wardrobe. If only you could see me, you would be jealous. I'm all in yellow, with sequins, like a ray of sunshine. It cheers the yellow rockies up to see me dressing to match them. They love to guess whose colours I will be wearing today so I have to alternate my colours to show I have no favourites. Isn't it nice to think you can give them pleasure by doing the tiniest thing? Of course, we Rubble Clubbers try to please our little pets in everything we do. My husband, Malcolm Dumpling couldn't care less what I wear as long as I keep baking the rock buns and brewing my speciality teas , but the rockies are extremely attentive to detail, and give me that disapproving look if I'm looking less than fabulous at all times. I (and you no doubt), dress divinely because that's what Rubble Clubbers do. That drab old Granny Gray, my gossipy shopkeeper, just can't get the hang of good taste in clothes, no matter how I try to put her right. That's why I won't let her into the meetings. She tries to sneak in, but her frumpy outfits give her away every time and I tell her to shooo off back into the shop where she belongs, gossping.
She just told me a heartwarming story about how someone came to be a member of the Rubble Club. As you know, we Growbies are currently rebuilding the land of Undergrowby here in Blackpool because we outgrew our wildlife sanctuary in the middle of nowhere. Well, in Blackpool, people confuse the word 'rock' with 'Blackpool rock', which isn't rock at all, but more of a coloured sugar wand. It is, apparently, a much sought-after delight and tourists flock into Blackpool in search of it. One such tourist came into the Magic Wand Factory shop in Dickson Road, and bought a bagful of pet rocks, mistakenly thinking they were Blackpool rocks, which they were, but not in sugary sense. That stupid old Granny Gray obviously was too busy gift-wrapping and gossiping to make it clear what she was selling. Well, luckily, the recipient of the gift-wrapped parcel, whose name is Joan, realised the true nature of the priceless gift she had received when she read their accompanying leaflet and did not try to eat them. Since the moment she met them, she and her rockies have all been inseparable. Her pockets are all bulging and frayed with the wear and tear of accommodating them all (this is a common tell-tale sign of a devoted pet rock owner without a handbag, for the information of those of you interested in detective work).
Apparently, this Joan has been learning to drive a car and could never remember the rules of the road, so in response to my advice which she heard first here at the Rubble Club, she read them out to her little rock pals who remembered them perfectly and precisely for her. Now, whenever she is on the road with her pet rocks in her pocket, she has no trouble remembering everything. The wonderful news is, they all passed their driving test together this week and she is treating them to a weekend in Blackpool as a reward. We are all going to have a reunion picnic on the beach tonight. If you are there, you can join us.
Meanwhile, someone has just choked on some gravel tea an there is spillage all over the table. I'll have to go. Linedancer, before I forget, Your prefect's badge is out of the kiln at last and now just needs a pin attached, as soon as I find one. Please be patient with me, you know what a full life I have. I have roamed around Blackpool, but there are no pins to be found so far, but have no doubt, I will succeed.
Till next Friday I remain your sparklingly fabulous, faithful friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.