Meeting of the Rubble Club 1st August 2008

Hello to pet rock owners worldwide and welcome once again to my cosy parlour under the rubble pile here in Undergrowby, Blackpool. Oops, I meant here at the Stone Quarry, Undergrowby, Blackpool. While we are on the subject of official addresses, please do not expect the postman to deliver your letters to me because as you may or may not know, Undergrowby keeps shifting around and we have no letterboxes. You will have to email me straight onto my laptop at my cyber space address which is madgedumpling@undergrowby.co.uk, or if you are clever enough you can just press the comments button here on the Rubble Club page. Most of you are clearly not very bright because I have only had five correspondents so far and one of them was myself. I can only guess there must be a confused postman trundling daily around Blackpool with a very heavy mailbag lookng for Undergrowby. If anyone sees him please take pity on him and point him to the Magic Wand Factory on Dickson Road.
Phew! It's been so much hotter than usual this week here in eternally sunny Blackpool. I hope you have got your pet rocks sitting in a pool of water to keep them cool. A jam jar lid will suffice if you have not got an official Rubble Club spa bath. A little ice cube floating alongside would be welcome, I'm sure, and a dash of that delicious Blackpool staple, ice cream would be a nice surprise, plopped on top of the gravel in the feeding bowl. It will probably have melted and run down all over the place before they get round to eating it, but it's the thought that counts. A kind sentiment will never go unappreciated by your little rockies. They give their all, Rubble Clubbers, and so should you.
Blinded by the sun on the Promenade, I got lost this week. Luckily, I have my inborn Dumpling magic to rely upon, and it guided me to a little round building near to Blackpool Tower, with a big letter 'i' on top of it. It turned out to be the tourist information centre, and although I am only six inches tall, and must cut quite a spectacle in a crowd of humans, no one noticed me. I suspect they mistook me for one of those pigeons who congregate along the rows of sunbathers on the promenade, begging for scraps. Anyway although I shouted at the top of my voice for assistance, no one heard me. I am beginning to think I may be invisible when I am out and about, but then again, there are such strange spectacles out there on Blackpool promenade that I in my pointed hat and quarrymistress outfit may seem quite ordinary by comparison.
I was telling you about the information centre. It was most extraordinary. Once I had given up shouting in vain for help, I wandered around in my usual exploratory manner, looking for rock samples but there were only piles of leaflets about tourist attractions, etc.. I read through all the ones on my low level, thereby plotting my amusements for the next few weeks, and then there along the bottom row I came upon a leaflet saying 'Visit the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road' and just as I spotted it, a bucket and spade nearly knocked me over. The holiday-maker who owned the offending items snatched one of the leaflets from right under my nose without waiting for me to say "after you", as I was about to do. Either I am invisible as I am beginning to suspect, or that person had no manners. She took it to the counter and a very pretty, bright young lady and handsome young man behind the counter got out their own wands from their pockets, showing off, and began to tell her what a wonderful place the Wand Factory was and gave her precise directions how to get there. I was expecting them to get their pet rocks out of her pockets, but no. Nothing more. Next time I am lost by the tower, I will take them a family of pet rocks. Then they will really have something to show off about!
Off went the holiday-maker, bucket and spade rattling wildly out of control and I, at a safe distance, followed. She joined her family who were sitting on a bench nearby. I stood under the bench and listened in to their conversation, accidentally of course. A flock of hungry pigeons waddled up to the bench, hoping we had just been for a bag of chips at Harry Ramsden's across the road, or a snack from one of the seafront cafes. I shooed them off because I couldn't hear what the holiday-makers were saying with all that cooing and squabbling going on. As I hoped, they decided to hike up to Dickson Road to get themselves a magic wand, so as luck would have it, they gave me a guided tour back home. The pigeons abandoned us for another party before we reached the North Pier.
So Rubble Clubbers, let that be a lesson to you. Carry your pet rocks with you at all times and the Dumpling magic will be with you too, bringing you good fortune and lucky coincidences like it does for me. I am too hot for baking this week so I have made some seaweed ice cream for your delight. I stirred a bit of seaweed into a cornet that someone(by Dumpling magic) dropped on the pavement as I went by. The little rockies love to watch it melt and drip all over the table. And if they are happy, so am I.
Have a lovely week till we meet again next Friday. Until then I remain your devoted chairman and lucky, hot little friend, Madge Dumpling.