The Rubble Club

WE HAVE MOVED

2009-02-09T10:57:00.005Z

Don't take your coats off just yet, Rubble Clubbers.
The Rubble Club Meeting has moved up in the world to its very own delightful NEW website The Rubble Club .
It's easy to get there, just click the link and follow me.

Love Madge

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 8th February, 2009

2009-02-08T16:48:00.003Z

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, knock the snow off your boots and come inside. If you all lived in sunny Blackpool like me, Madge Dumpling, (world-famous pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club), there would be no snow to knock off because, as usual, the sun has been shining all week. Like me, you would be covered in sun cream. The weather reporters on the telly, when they are saying everywhere is covered in snow, always forget to mention that Blackpool, however, is as sunny as ever. Why? I think Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, should do an official Undergrowby weather report of his own, telling the real truth so the world will find out that Blackpool, and especially Undergrowby, Blackpool, truly has the best of the weather in the whole of the land.
I have been practising my best hand-writing all week, using my new set of seagull-quill pens, which I made myself, dipped in beetroot juice. The first story I have written out beautifully is called "The Mystery of Miss Tick" and it is about the strange school-mistress of the Seven Schools of Undergrowby. I have insisted that Grandad Gray puts it on the Magic Wand Factory website for you, and he is obeying me as fast as he can. Watch out for it, Rubblers. Although it is a very short story, it is too long to read out here at the Rubble Club and, like all my best bedtime stories, it is guaranteed to send the pet rocks off to sleep, and we don't want that till later tonight, do we?. They come here to play, mingle, smell the cakes and gossip silently with each other after all.
Granny Gray has her favourite little customers, pet rock collectors, who come into the shop on Dickson Road Blackpool. She has me making all kinds of extra things to keep them happy. I am pleased to say that one of them, Nicole, who, like me, is very fond of blue tits, has written me a letter, and just so she knows I have got it, I am giving Granny Gray a little prize for her. Another one, Jo's sister Emma, is having a birthday soon, so I will have to be getting her a little something for her birthday too.
Something very exciting has happened this week, Rubble Clubbers. While I was out on my rounds, checking up on pet rocks who have moved out into the community, making sure they are being well looked-after, I came upon a set of lucky pet rocks who have become glamorous film stars thanks to the creative film-making talents of Holly and Carlotte, (another couple of Granny Gray's favourites). They were making an exciting and dramatic film, starring their pet rocks, with squeaky voices added tastefully(if artificially)by the film-makers, on their dining room table, and the pet rocks in question had no time to talk to me for acting their socks off in front of the camera. It is as if I were invisible! Still, like every good mother, I put their needs first, and wish them well. I fully expect them to appear on the telly one day. I will not tell you the plot of the film, Rubble Clubbers, so I don't spoil it for you.
I may not speak to you again before Valentine's Day so I must bring your attention to how much your pet rocks will be hoping for a Valentine of their own. A very tiny one please, Rubblers. It will be up to you to make sure they are not disappointed. You can pretend it is from another pet rock if you are too shy to reveal your identity. If you are a sentimental fool, like me, you could hold a pet rock speed-dating party for Valentines Day Eve, and do a bit of match-making. Granny Gray will have lots of little Valentine gifts perfect for pet rocks, if you call in at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. You could even give them to humans too, so to be safe, buy two of everything to avoid any jealousy from your human partners. Be creative, Rubblers. Do it your way, but please remember to do it well, or pet rocks' hearts will be broken and nothing is worth the weeks of sulking you will have to endure if you forget.
I have had a fascinating, chatty letter from Debz, (Linda's daughter), from Kilmarnoch, about the new pet she is getting to entertain her pet rocks, a hamster called(delightfully) Rocky. Debz, I have a hamster connection myself, and so do my own pet rocks. Hamsters and pet rocks get on well together. Make sure the rockies are perched high enough up so they can see into the hamster's cage or they will be frustrated. Granny Gray is babysitting long-term for her grand-daughters' hamster, and as well as entertaining the rockies, the hamster's food-bowl used to be my best source of oatfalkes for my rock-cake mixtures. Then, to my delight, your mother brought me a whole year's supply of pure Scottish oats and I have never been in the hamster's bowl since. I expect your lucky hamster will be living on a hearty Scottish oatcake diet. Its a good job pet rocks are not prone to jealousy. No matter how much the hamster smacks his lips and shows off his oatcakes, your little rockies will still be friends with him. You could give them a few crumbs of their own in a bottle-top if you care to make them feel more of a family, dining cosily all together.
Auntie Hatty's pet rock hat shop has been open all week and I am pleased to announce it is a great success. A few of her hats put in an appearance on the heads of the film star pet rocks in the aforementioned film, and Auntie Hatty will no doubt one day be mentioned on screen as 'pet rock hat-maker to the stars'. From rags to fame and fortune in one week! Congratulations, Auntie H!
My own cake shop was opened this week too, and is nearly sold out. Now I have finished my writing, I shall have to go and get my mixing bowl out. Mingle amongst yourselves, Rubble Clubbers. I will be back with you next week, and meanwhile I remain your faithful chairman and busy little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meting of the Rubble Club 1st February 2009

2009-02-01T12:46:00.003Z

Hello, pet rock owners, this is Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club of Undergrowby. Come on, bring your pet rocks in out of the cold, Rubble Clubbers, and welcome to another get-together with myself, my little rockies and the invisible world-wide pet rocking community. We are freezing cold, aren't we? Well, I bring good news. The human world, as you know, has only four seasons, but in Undergrowby, we Growbies have twelve seasons, and each season has its own sections, so every day is important to the annual cycle, if you want it to be.
For your information, it is now the Undergrowby season of the falling snowflakes, which marks the half-way turning point of the long winter sleep. Up to now, the Growbies(apart from myself, who am too busy to sleep, and Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, whose job it is to stay awake and inspect everything) have been falling deeper and deeper asleep.
All that is about to change, because as soon as the snowflakes fall, Clockit Quick blows his whistle and the winter sporters (endurance sleeping competitors), must stop going deeper and deeper and start to come out of the sleeping state. By the dawn of spring, on that very morning when the first of the thorn bushes opens its first blossom, the sleeping competitors must be sure to wake up punctually, on the dot, and break out of their winter cocoons. To prove they are awake they must rush outside and wave their own personal flag for the attention of Mr Quick. He announces the winning sleeping champion in his annual report which is published the next day in the Undergrowby Gnews.
You would think my husband, Malcolm, would win the prize every year, because he has me to wake him up, but he is too dozy to get out of his cocoon and wave his flag. I have cheated so many times, dressing up as Malcolm and waving his flag, that I have been disqualified from the competition for life. That Clockit Quick's eyesight is too sharp for his own good. It is lucky, therefore, that we Dumplings have other extraordinary talents for which we can win prizes. I have invented a wide range of Rubble Club competitions and prizes of my own for that very purpose, some of which I have already mentioned and you have failed to enter, Rubble Clubbers, leaving me as sole competitor. Never mind. all the more prizes for me.
During the week I have had invisible visits from my head prefect Linedancer, whose kind heart I have come to rely upon. Ah, here she is again. Move along, Rubble Clubbers and let Linedancer have that spot on the couch nearest to the fire. She hasn't been well, and has struggled along here with her bag full of pampered, but hatless pet rocks despite her poorly ankle, hoping to catch Auntie Hatty's pet rock hat shop open. Sadly, we are in invisible cyber-space and not in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, and I do not hold the key from one to the other. as well as the hat shop, my pet rocks' cake shop is now open in the M. W. F. Shop, and I have a few delicious, crunchylicious samples for you all here at the meeting. Enjoy! All the ingredients were sourced locally(picked from the beach) and mixed with a few magical flakes from Linda from Kilmarnoch's Scottish oat food parcel, which I have secreted in the wardrobe in my spare room in case of jealous, competitive bakers(like myself) raiding my pantry in search of my peculiar ingredients. They would steal my recipes as soon as look at me, but as yet, although others have copied many of my other rubblicious ingredients, I am the only baker in Undergrowby who has ever even heard of Scottish oats! I like to keep them all guessing.
Linda, I am glad you have now got a map of Undergrowby and I hope you have located my home at the Stone Quarry in the Rocky Headlands, across the lane from Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector due north in the Watery Wetlands. Next time you visit the shop, Linda, get Granny Gray to show you how to use the map to steer your life's directions, as it does my own. There are secret readings for every destination, available to be borrowed by Rubble Clubbers for the asking. Meanwhile, just for fun, write to me and tell me your map number and I will tell you where on the map you would belong if you were a Growby like me.
To calculate your map number, try to remember the year you were born...19??. If you can't remember, ask your pet rocks, they will know. Those two last numbers in your birth year are the important ones. Add them together and keep adding them together until you arrive at a single digit number. For instance, if it were 1999, you would add 9 and9 to get 18, then add 1 and 8 to get nine. Then subtract that single digit number from 10 to get your map number, which in this case would be 10-9=1. That is the number of the Watery Wetlands, where the fearless, hard working Growbies live, who have plenty of back. The map number of the Stone Quarry is 8, and we Rocky Headlanders are thinkers, dependable and strong like our mountain home, with a sweet tooth and a fondness for the earth's history, embedded in its rocks. If you were born before the 3rd of February, you use the previous year's date to do your calculations because our calendars are different from yours.
And now I must retire to my writing room and leave you to mingle with each other while you demolish the cake samples and drink my teapot dry, because I am writing down all my pet rock bedtime stories for the benefit of pet rocks everywhere, once they have left my care. You will all be needing a copy, I know, so I must not delay. However, I will return next week to chair the meeting as reliably as ever and meanwhile I remain your devoted little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 25th January 2009

2009-01-25T12:33:00.002Z

Hello, this is Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club, welcoming all pet rock owners and your rocky little pals to another jolly get-together here at the Stone Quarry, in the hidden, invisible land of Undergrowby. That smoky, crunchy smell in the air is due to a massive baking attack which came upon me last Monday. Our kind, helpful Scottish Rubble Club prefect, Linda from Kilmarnoch made a special journey on the coach to Blackpool to bring me a year's supply of Scottish oats and oatcakes. I wept with joy when I saw it, Linda, and I am sincerely touched by your dedication. Give my love to the coach-driver and tell him I will not be seeing him for some time now and please explain why. He will miss me, I know, but for a while I shall be too busy baking to be travelling around minding the luggage in his luggage compartment.
I am thrilled, Linda, at the thought that you and step-Bob might be thinking of moving to Blackpool. Just say the word and I will get my friends, the pigeons on the Promenade, to look for a nice property for you. I know you will have realised that it will need to be one with a nice big cellar and a gnome flap on the back door, but apart from that, you could be considering anything. A nice big hotel, perhaps? With a cocktail bar and cocktail umbrellas? My world-famous and hightly efficient head prefect, Linedancer, will probably be able to be talked into becoming your receptionist, as long as you pay very well and allow her to display her pet rockery along her desk.
Anyway, back to business...the buffet. Help yourselves, Rubblers, to my latest grit-chip oaty experiments over there on the table. I am so well-stocked with ingredients now that I am even thinking about opening a rock cake shop on a new shelf somewhere in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. I told you last week about Auntie Hatty's proposals for a hat shop department, didn't I? Well, as a result of that, all this week my parlour has been full of hats and hat-making supplies. The pet rocks have loved watching Auntie Hatty's hat designs take shape under my nimble fingertips. To 'cap' it all, they have now all been fitted with a new hat each and although some are plain and some are very fancy, as yet there has been no jealousy.
(They are such easy-going little creatures, aren't they, Rubblers? )
The new hat department is going to be a fabulous triumph and give pet rocks everywhere so much pleasure, but you know me, Rubble Clubbers, I am not one to boast about my successes and be content to rest on my laurels. No sooner have I completed one project than I am already on with another. Now I have launched into ambitious rocky oatcake experiments and I have been so busy and cluttered, I have had no room to think straight. I would like you to eat as many oatcakes as you can from the buffet, Rubble Clubbers, to make room for my next week's experiments. The pet rocks, with the best will in the world, eat so slowly that they are not able to assist with stock clearance anything like as efficiently as you.
Auntie Hatty's hat shop is going on the shelves in the shop tomorrow, and I have had it photographed for you by way of a special preview, exclusive to dedicated Rubble Clubbers. Granny Gray has finally been convinced(she takes bribes of an oaty nature) that she should move those unnecessary pottery houses to make room for it. You see, Rubblers, the Rubble Club's shelf space in the shop is growing slowly but surely. My cunning plan is working.
For my next next trick, Rubblers, I just have to decide where our new rock cake shop is going to be fitted-in. It should be easy to get something else cleared out to make way for it. A hundred or so of those pesky magic wands, perhaps? With all these oats in my larder, I think I now have Granny Gray, the Magic Wand Factory's doddery old shopkeeper, literally eating out of my hand.
The aforementioned pigeons, those gossipy friends of mine who waddle around on the Blackpool Promenade, listening in to conversations, (much like myself), are thrilled to bits this week because all the pigeon fanciers and pigeons from all over the world are visiting Blackpool, holding parties and competitions for their little feathered pets. The Promenade pigeons are banned from the official events, but they are still thrilled because instead of snacking on cold fish and chips dropped by the visitors, they are being fed handfuls of best quality pigeon food by this week's visitors, who always have a bag of dried peas and grains in their pockets in case they should bump into a pigeon. They love pigeons as much as we love pet rocks.
This world-famous pigeon week comes round every year at this time. It is like a pigeon's idea of Christmas. I am helping them out by sweeping up a few bagsful of the excess pigeon food and bringing it back home with me to add to my gourmet recipes. Well, the pigeons will be getting indigestion, gobbling down too much rich food all at once, and we don't want that do we? I might return some of it to them later in the year if I need something to bribe them with for snippets of local information.
Anyway, never mind the pigeons, if I have my way, some day in the future there will be an annual Pet Rock Week in Blackpool, and Rubble Clubbers world-wide will come and bring their little pets for a fabulous pet rock festival together in the Winter Gardens. The wonderful Blackpool hotels (especially yours, Linda) will be full of Rubble Clubbers and their world-class competition-winning pet rocks.
I will go away now and, between oatcake experiments, think about how I am going to fix that. Till next week then, I remain your faithful chairman and fond friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 18th January 2009

2009-01-18T11:08:00.002Z

Hello and welcome, all you devoted Rubble Clubbers and your pampered pets, to another cosy get-together with me, Madge Dumpling and our ever-growing assembly of pet rocks. The buffet is over there...a change from rock cakes today, you may be sad to hear....sandy oat-cake tea loaf, and your old favourite, steaming hot gravel tea of course. You may be wondering if I have been to Scotland again to fetch some oats, but no, I have traced a local source. Granny Gray has been baby-sitting for her grand-daughters' hamster, and what do you think I found in its food bowl while searching for rock samples? Amongst many other delectable ingredients I found two or three oatflakes! Perfect! I helped myself and went straight to the kitchen where I concocted this week's cakeys, from the luxury hamster mix blended skilfully with gravel tea, some scraps of wet clay to bind it all together, and before I put it in the oven I finished it with a dusting of that magical ingredient, ...Blackpool sand.... from my very own shoes! I know, another triumph! Enjoy!
Right, on to business. In order for the Rubble Club to continue to thrive in these lonely, rainy, wintery times, I have decided, come what may, to expand my allotted shelf space in the magic wand shop, known to all as The Magic Wand Factory, Dickson Road, Blackpool, (although I think it should have a change of name, don't you, Rubble Clubbers, to something more rocky?.... but first things first.....more shelf space for now, tackle the name later).
This week, while snuggled in my winter cocoon trying to go to sleep, I pondered out loud how on earth was I was going to steal some more shelf space? My little rockies, (who know everything that is going on of course, and have answers for everything, if only you can hear their silent voices), came up with an idea. One of my oldest, wisest, and prettiest rockies, is called Auntie Hatty, and true to her name, she likes her hats. As you can see from my picture, I too, like all Growbies, am never without a hat. Hat-making is an old tradition in Undergrowby, but pet rocks have to depend on their owners to make them hats because they have no fingers of their own. Auntie Hatty, who designs all her own hats, is concerned that people out there may lack the skills to make nice, decent hats for their pets and may be scouring the pet shops in vain, looking for stockists of pet rock hats.
After our conversation she agreed, as long as I promise to make her famous, that she would share with me all her spring season designs which I will make, and together we will open a hat shop on the shelf above the pet rock display, where Granny Gray has got some quite unnecessary pottery houses at the moment. It will be called Auntie Hatty's Hat Shop, and Auntie Hatty will be put in charge of it. You will recognise her if you call in at the shop. She is the large plump pink one wearing a hat with a rose upon it(I made it for her myself, to her design, of course).
As if that were not enough excitement for one week, I have had my portrait sculpted in bas-relief by a world-famous artist and several copies made, which you an buy at the Magic Wand Factory. Aunt Hattie(who is, I fear, getting a bit above her station), insisted on having one done of herself, but I can't think who would buy it. However, our portraits are now on sale, along with that of a random family of pet rocks sunbathing on Blackpool beach. Hurry and get one, Rubblers, and buy one of the first available pet rock hats while you are there!
I am pleased to say those lovely Rubble Clubbers, Joe and Emma(see last week's photos) have collected their prize from Granny Gray and I am now waiting for their close friend Louis to send me his photos to share with you. Also next week, I will show you some photos of Auntie Hatty's Hat Shop, in case you are too far away in cyber space to come to the shop.
And with that, I must leave you to get on with the hat-making. My work is never done, baking, collecting, singing, clapping, nosey-parkering, bossing, organising and opening my little invisible mailbox,........but if I didn't do it who would? And then where would the pet rocks be?
Till next week, I remain your devoted chairman and busy little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 11th January 2009

2009-01-11T12:26:00.004Z

Hello, this is Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock whisperer and chairman of the Rubble Club of Undergrowby, welcoming all you cold, wet pet rock owners and your little pets to another fabulous winter get-together. Please leave your wet coats and umbrellas in the doorway..we don't want the little rockies to be reminded of the rain...you know how they hate it!
Here we are then, all huddled around the candles burning in the hearth, having a lovely cosy time. While we wait for the candles to warm up the gravel tea, I have some heart-warming pictures for you to look at, sent to me through cyber-space by the Magical Personal Assistant of two of my favourite members, Joe and Emma.
Joe and Emma have made a FIVE STAR perfect pet rock paradise of their home. In my expert opinion, it is one of those places pet rocks may become so happy that they may even begin to breed. I have visited Joe and Emma's house, squeezing in through that convenient gap in the edge of the floorboards from time to time to do my routine follow-up inspections, as I do for all my little rockies, and I am always pleased with what I find. It just gets better and better! I am going to make them a special prize, which will be ready in about a week, as a reward for their truly brilliant pet rock-catering service. Joe and Emma, my clever darlings, please ask Granny Gray if it is ready next time you come to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool.
Rubble Clubbers, you can copy their beautiful floor plans or create one of your own, and in either case, perhaps you could get your own Magical Personal Assistant to send me some photos to share with the membership? Joe, Emma and their close friend Louis(who has a pet rock world of his own) are planning a mini-Blackpool beach sand-play area for their paradises, so there may be some more photos when the constructions are complete.
And there is more in the post-bag. Linda from Kilmarnoch, I too am counting the hours to your return to Blackpool, and I agree that your little pets will be ecstatically happy to stay in Scotland while you are on holiday. They have already done Blackpool. As long as they have been reassured that you will be returning in a few days, they will happily guard the house for you and memorise everything that is happening while you are away. They are better than any security camera, once you get the hang of decoding their little messages.
Linedancer, thank you kindly for asking after my health. I am now perfectly fit and raring to get the new year underway. It is going to be a year of divine blessings and abundance for all of us here in the Rubble Club. I consulted the Undergrowby Map of Mysteries on the matter and that is what I as told. I was directed all around the pathways of the Spring Green with its plantations, and the Wandmakers' Forest with its magically rich pickings. They are both gnomesteads where all the fast, upward growth happens, so the good fortunes of the Rubble Club membership are definitely set to flourish before the year is out. In my case, I am praying it means the tide is going to wash in lots of lovely rock specimens for me to turn into pet rocks for you. If it doesn't, the little darlings would soon become extinct. (But the map says they won't, so don't worry!)
If you want a Map of Mysteries Oracle Pack of your own together with its chart of meanings and instructions for how to use it, you will have to come to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, or for £11.50 including posting fee, ask Granny Gray to post you one. (01253 353800). You can ask the map about anything you like, no matter how frivolous or serious, it will give you its age-old wise directions on anything you are having trouble with. It is printed on material so you can do a bit of embroidery or beading here and there if you like, to put your own pretty, personal touches in.
Any pet rock can be trained to guide the map reader to his or her destination. Some are more alert than others but they never run off in the wrong direction like, say, a spider would do if given the same job. In fact a fully obedience-trained baby pet rock guide comes free with every Oracle Pack. As you will see, they are just the right size for travelling along the pathways and standing still in between moves to remind you where you are up to. Only you Rubble Clubbers know this pack is available by post. Even visitors to the shop have to be very observant and inquisitive to spot it because Granny Gray is not very good at showcasing things well enough to be seen by all. The cloth map is available on the web-site shop (£5.95) but no mention is made of the chart of meanings, instruction booklet and pet rock guide. WHY, I ask myself?
I would make a much better shop assistant than Granny Gray myself if only I were much bigger and less invisible, but I am too busy with my own work anyway. The sales figures in the shop are destined to be permanently at the mercy of the well-meaning but truly incompetant Granny and Grandad Gray. Heaven help us all!
I hope you like the pictures, Rubble Clubbers. If anyone else has some to share, we'd love to see them, wouldn't we? I may see who I can find to be my own personal photographer to take some photos of me on my travels around Blackpool. If any of you are six inches tall or under, with your own camera, the job is yours. I am waiting to hear from you. Meanwhile, until next week, I remain your faithful chairman and devoted friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 4th January 2009

2009-01-05T10:08:00.002Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling speaking to you from Rubble Club H.Q., my delightfully rubble-strewn parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby, which is in a secret spot somewhere deep underground in cyberspace to the rear of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. Congratulations to those of you bright enough to find the entrance, and I regret that I am arriving late to the meeting once again. As I suspected, you have been too polite to ransack my cupboards for the refreshments. You must be starving. Over there in that cupboard is a stone jar marked "Do not touch! Rubble Clubber's only!" Open the lid and get yourselves a nice crunchy rock cake each. I have just returned from a long journey and I may well fall asleep if I have one myself. They do have a way of sitting heavily on the stomach floor, don't they, and rooting you to the ground in a sleepy, blobby, speechless way. Yes I know, when the first bite has gone down you feel as if you are turning into a pet rock. Alas, it is just a delightful illusion, an unmissable part of the Dumpling Magic. For those of you who have come here to relax and enter the world of pet rocks, you could do no better than eat as many as you can while you are here. It is the best way of achieving maximum unity with your little pets and contributing to their interesting (if silent) animated discussion group which they have here at the Rubble Club once a week. Without the help of the rock cakes we might never have been even aware of it, let alone join in.
No doubt you are wondering where I have been? Well, the answer is,... on a coach trip to Scotland for the New Year parties. It was thanks to all those permanently jolly Scottish visitors who returned once again to stay in their (and my) favourite hotels Blackpool for the Christmas festivities. The Scots are very fond of their cocktail parties, as we all know, and where there are cocktail parties there are those little umbrellas which I like to collect for the welfare of pet rocks world-wide. Well, while I was behind the bar at the New Belvedere Hotel, collecting umbrellas, I heard those lovely Scottish voices talking about all the cocktail parties they had got planned for when they get back home for New Year. From what I could gather, on New Year's Eve the Scots all get together to pretend they are in Blackpool again. Every house has its own little cocktail party and they all stay awake all night drinking cocktails and being nice to each other. I am normally good at staying awake, as you know, and my desire for a few more sacksful of cocktail umbrellas got the better of me, and I secreted myself on board their coach when it returned home to Scotland after Christmas.
It all went to plan. The Scots are very good at pretending they are on holiday. Except for the absence of the seagulls, you would have sworn it was Blackpool. There were cocktails everywhere. I collected as many umbrellas as I could carry, listened in to lots of jolly conversations, joined in with all the sing-songs, danced along with the dancers, (although as I had forgotten my ladder I had to remain dancing alone on the floor like a wallflower when the others took to dancing on the tables). All in all I had a lovely time, but when morning came and there was no breakfast gong gonging and no squawking, seagully noise in the air, their pretending game was finally up. They had pretended they were in Blackpool admirably all night long but now it was all too clear that they were not really in Blackpool after all. Looking sad, green-faced and dejected, one-by-one, the Scots started to look droopy, took to their beds and went to sleep. I alone was alert and chirpy. But then, I am not fond of sleep, or cocktails (I am always wary of being poisoned by strange drinks...I stick to the flask of home-brewed gravel tea which I carry on my person at all times).
Where, I wondered, was the coach driver?
The coach driver, it seemed, instead of driving straight back with a fresh coach-load of Blackpool-bound tourists, had drunk one of those poisonous cocktails of which I am always wary and was too ill to drive. He was fast asleep on the dance-floor. I had to wait patiently within viewing distance of the luggage compartment for signs of the return journey getting underway. Usually the coach trips return back to Blackpool the next day with a new set of holiday-makers, but because of those New Year cocktail parties and the resulting bouts of illness, who could know when I would get home to Blackpool again? I decided to pop through the gnome-flap of a nearby Rubble Club member's house with a window overlooking the coach park, and in between keeping an eye on the coach, I inspected his pet rock collection. I handed out a few umbrellas to the dear little rockies and asked them to request a song for me to sing for them, as it was the festive season. They were unanimous in their choice. It was the Dumpling Chant number 8, always a winter favourite because it has nine beats in a bar, (the rhythm of summer)(it warms you up..... I will sing it for you some time.)
There was plenty of food in the larder, so I helped myself from a mountain of tasty-looking Scottish oatcakes, but they were lacking in something somehow, so I sprinkled them with some Blackpol sand from inside my shoes, and instantly they became delectable. I wonder if I can locate some Scottish oats in Blackpool when I get home? Just in case I cannot, I helped myself to a few extra ones to take home with me to add to next weeks buffet, dredged with sand of course. You see, even when I am far from home I never stop thinking of my duty to you, do I, Rubblers? I am quite tireless in that regard.
To cut a long story short, only today did I return from Scotland with the umbrellas and oatcakes. You will have to wait till next week for the oatcakes because I have to add my special Dumpling touch to them before I serve them up as my own.
I have just opened my mailbox and I am pleased to announce that my lovely prefect Linda from Kilmarnoch will be coming to Blackpool again soon. HURRAY! Linda, just make sure the coach is full of nice, kind, (wealthy) adoptive Rubble Clubbers because the over-wintering pet rocks are a little overcrowded at the moment, especially the orphans. There is also some new wrought iron pet rock furniture in the shop, just made to be perched on the sunny windowsills of those elegant, roomy kind Scottish homes where hundreds of pet rocks wil be sunbathing and overlooking those rocky Scottish landscapes during this coming year (that's if I can fix it for them). I will instruct Granny Gray, my shopkeeper to have plenty of adoption papers at the ready.
The coming year is going to be a happy, propsperous one for you all, Rubblers. I have planted my dream cocoon in the Rocky headlands on the Blackpool Promende and wished for it, so it will be so. The plant kingdom is the most reliable agent of change, and moves faster than rock magic, which, although reliable, lacks speed. Well, pet rocks can't all be good at everything. With that I will leave you to watch the goodness unfold until next week when we will, heaven willing, meet again. I remain your good, faithful friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 29th December 2008

2008-12-29T10:29:00.002Z

Hello, Rubble Clubbers and thank you for waiting patiently for me to open the meeting. I, Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock whisperer and Rubble Club Chairman, have been suffering from a violent chill which came upon me during my last rock-gathering expedition. The east wind took me by surprise and knocked me off my feet. I took a tumble down the Blackpool Promenade "Cliffs" and as I lay gasping at the bottom, the chill took hold of the back of my neck and entered my little body as quick as a shivering flash. Since I arrived back home I have been sneezing and snuffling and coughing, and forced to be permanently confined to my bed cupboard with a bag of dried gooseberries(a famous Undergrowby remedy for the chill). I even lit the fire. Well, it was a medical emergency, after all, and my friend, Doc Leaf is asleep for the winter. The pet rocks have been left to their own devices for days, but it seem, miraculously, no great harm has come to them. However, thanks to the healing effects of time, gooseberries and the Dumpling magic, I am now well again and the gravel tea is back on the boil. I have added a few gooseberries to the tea and to the rock cakes as a preventative measure to ensure you do not catch my chill. Over the weekend I did not feel up to baking, and could not have conducted the meeting for coughing. Now I am well again and unstoppable.
Thank you for all your good wishes and news reports. Linedancer, my dear head prefect, thank you for remaining constantly alive and alert. It is a great comfort to me to know you are out there, observing and invigilating over the membership. I wish you great success, happiness and absence of chills in the year to come.
Granny Gray told me about the visit from two important members, Joe and Emma, and I have had correspondance which alerts me to the fact that Granny Gray has been handing out bottles of pet rock fizzy drinks instead of the new umbrellas I provided for her treat bag. Those fizzy drinks were supposed to have been returned to a neighbour's over-stocked dolls house from which I 'borrowed' them (the tops were faulty and ....uselessly....refused to come off), but Granny Gray must have had other ideas. I am sorry, therefore, if the useless and purely decorative bottle caused trouble between Mr Niggles and the others. I wish you better luck to come in the New Year!
And now on to the Dumpling magic breathing techniques. If you manage to do this in one, it will be more down to good luck than good management, but I will take you through a simplified version of 'launching the Dumpling' and we'll see what happens.

Just below the skin and above the flesh and muscles there are invisible pathways running everywhere, and if you could see them they would draw a map similar to the map of Undergrowby, but with lots of extra pathways, like fine lace. During the course of the day and night, your ever-busy inner Dumpling wanders around these pathways in a predictable order, clearing them and polishing them till they shine. It keeps your body and mind healthy and without its good work you would not be alive. When you are doing your Dumpling Awareness practices, it comes under your control for a while, so it is good if you have some knowledge of "special treat"pathways so you do not waste its time for nothing. The Middle Way is the pathway I am thinking of when it comes to launching your Dumpling into the invisible realms.

The Middle Way starts and ends at the tummy button. It travels down, through the mid-line of your body, dips between your legs and rises up along the line of your backbone to the tip of your head and then falls forward down the mid-line back to the tummy button and deep into your belly again, to the Palace of the Dumpling, to which it returns thousands of times in a day, and where it keeps all its treasures.

For this exercise, using mind and breath, you will encourage your Dumpling along the pathway to enter the radiant launching ground which sits just above the crown of your head. Normally it only enters this pathway when you are relaxed and asleep, and launches itself into the shimmering land of dreams, and it is very much against its nature to accomplish this feat while you are awake and tense. For this reason, you may be unsuccessful at first, but if you can devise a way of putting yourself into a very relaxed state, you will have a much better chance of success. I recommend gently stretching, bending and twisting every muscle and joint in the body in every possible direction, or dancing about like a tree(in private) for a very long time. You will. I trust, no doubt find your own way.

First, through subtle squeezing of your tummy muscles, locate your Dumpling and encourge it to find its way along your tummy button to just below the surface of your body behind the entrance to your tummy button. Then, visualise the pathway branching up and down the centre line of your body and if it seems confused, point the Dumpling downwards. By pressing down into your belly with your lower chest muscles and diaphragm, think of moving your Dumpling down, down, down along the path. When you can imagine it down below, hidden somewhere under your bottom, flick your seat muscles inwards to hold it there for a moment. Every time you breathe out, push it down firmly while you prepare the next leg of the journey.

Then, by curling your seatbones under and flattening your waist backwards as you breathe in, encourage the Dumpling to climb the pathway up from your bottom centrally along your backbone. When you feel it arrive somewhere around waist level, stop flattening your waist backwards and allow the natural lumbar arch to return to your back. It will drive the Dumpling upwards with every in-breath, up, up and up to the back of your chest. Keep breathing it upwards with the in-breath, flexing and wriggling the spine if it gets stuck anywhere. If it gets stuck at the back of the neck, pull in the chin tightly, making the head bow down, opening the back of the neck and thereby alowing the Dumpling to travel upwards to the top of the head. Be mindful of the in-breath when travelling upwards, (and the out-breath when travelling downwards). The breath, second only to your mind, is your most poweful and important tool. The in-breath makes things rise and the out-breath makes things descend more easily.

The first time you lead your Dumpling along the Middle Way, do not linger for long at the top of the head, but allow it to fall naturally down the mid-line of the front of the face, neck, chest and back into the tummy button back home again. Then it knows you know the Way correctly (and so do you), so you can both relax better into the next journey. If I am honest, I have to admit that you may have to practice tracing the Middle Way with your Dumpling many times before it comes naturally, and this is a good thing to do anyway, to help unstick any sticky areas in your body and mind and clear your way forward in life. It is a helpful route to know when, one day, you are afraid you may be near to death, because it is good to know your Dumpling(the real you) can survive in or out of the body, and will survive death quite intact.

When you are adept at the Mid-line journey, and the Dumpling seems happy to linger at the top of the head and bask in the shimmering glow of the celestial lunching-ground, breathe very gently and when the moment feels right, gather a long in-breath as if changing gear ready for a powerful launch. Clench your seat muscles strongly as you expel the out-breath, to impel the Dumpling upwards and outwards into the space above your head where it will become fused with the magical invisible world of what we loosely refer to as the heavenly realms. It is always good to go there and no harm can ever come from this practice. What happens after the launch is always different and I will never know what you discover about the invisible world unless our Dumplings happen to bump into each other while they are on their travels.
If your Dumpling fails to launch, relax and try again another day. It cannot be forced. My own Dumpling refuses to launch quite often, but usually it is when I have too many other jobs I should be doing and my mind is not as empty as it might be. I just trust that when a Dumpling knows its coast is clear, and my jobs are done, it will launch. It is not without its own intelligence, and as it, like myself, is composed of mind-stuff, it seems to be able to read my mind as well as I can read the Undergrowby Gnews. Undoubtedly, one day, Rubble Clubbers, the launch will happen, and if it has happened once, it can happen again. I wish you happy travels, and many returns to a very happy home, for the sake of all the many more pet rocks who will be living in it in the coming year. May it be a jolly happy, healthy and prosperous one for us all. I remain your faithful friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 21st Dec 2008

2008-12-21T12:38:00.002Z

Hello! Greetings one and all, this is Madge Dumpling once again, welcoming all you lovely, dedicated pet rock fanciers (and your little pets) to another fabulous get-together of the world-famous Rubble Club of Undergrowby. I am a little late joining you this week, but I see you have already made inroads into the chilly winter buffet and even the dried-up crunchy left-overs from last week have gone.Perhaps a coach trip has come and gone before I even arrived. Ah, I see a letter has been left on the table. That may be a clue! I have opened it and found a pretty card with a picture of violas on it, and news from my newest prefect, Linda all the way from Scotland.
I was right about Linda. She is turning out to be highly intelligent, motivated and dutiful to the cause. The paper card(the first paper card I have ever had from a Rubble Clubber) is addressed to me c/o Granny Gray at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, but Linda must have changed her mind about posting it, and sensibly organised a coach trip of lovely Scottish Rubble Clubbers and delivered it by hand instead. Well decided, Linda! I'm sorry to have missed you. That nosey, gossip, Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, knows too much about my business already. Your top tip idea for umbrella-holding pet rock beds made from pretty tea light holders filled with coloured sand would be all over town by now, and Granny Gray would be taking personal credit for it. It's best to keep our ideas between ourselves here in the Rubble Club, then we know what's what.
I expect there are plenty of tea light holders, sand and cocktail umbrellas knocking about in the hotels along the promenade. I shall be having a walk tomorrow to cadge a few from my many kind, sympathetic hotelier friends, who have contributed so much in the past to me and the little rockies. In the friendly, open-hearted, welcoming spirit of Blackpool's own, those who love me have installed little gnome flaps in their back doors so I can come and go as I like. If they are not in, I just help myself to their bits and bobs and leave a few orphans behind when I go, (if I remember).
Now, a special notice to Joe and Emma, who came into the shop this week to adopt some little orphans. It comes to my attention that Granny Gray, my day-dreaming shopkeeper, forgot to issue you with umbrellas for your pet rocks, even though I distinctly heard you ask her if they liked the wet or not. I stamped on her foot from my listening post under the counter, but she willfully ignored me.Therefore, Joe and Emma, or Joe and Emma's mum, next time you are on Dickson Road, please pop in and demand your umbrellas. It gives a pet rock that added sense of security to have their umbrella up above their heads, even if they are indoors. They hate the rain, as you all know.
And so, on to the next episode of the magical Dumpling breathing technique.Having found your inner Dumpling, (see previous few weeks' Meetings ) and learned to control its movement within the inner cauldron, it is time for me to let you into a secret. Every night when you lie down and go to sleep, your breathing pattern changes to a different rhythm, sometimes quiet, sometimes noisy. This rhythm, when noisy, is called the Snoring Dumpling Rhythm, (or Snoring, for short). It is a perfectly natural phenomenon during which your Dumpling travels along secret, invisible pathways within you and makes its way into the dithering, magical invisible space just above your head, which is where the full-sized visible you becomes the tiny invisible you. Once you are invisible and tiny you can go wherever you wish and visit anywhere you like on earth or in heaven. You will not remember where you chose to go, because of course you are asleep at the time, but for those who practice the Dumpling breathing technique, it is sometimes possible to breathe yourself there when you are awake and learn a great deal about the invisible world around you. It is useful for inquisitive types like myself, who like to know what's going on everywhere. Next week, I will help you guide your Dumpling upwards, out of the cauldron, through the gateway of the invisible world, and back home again.
I regret there is not time today, because I came too late to the meeting, but I will give you a little hint, to put you on. Sit up straight on the edge of your chair, locate your inner Dumpling and invite your Dumpling to be thinking about the shimmering invisible space just above your head, and let it know that you know what it is up to every night when you go to sleep. Give it a few days to consider inviting you to accompany it up there next week. It will probably be relieved its game is up, and be planning a nice jolly seasonal destination for you to visit by the time the next meeting arrives. It will be its (and my) lovely invisible Christmas present to you. Till then, I remain your faithful freind and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling .

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 14th Dec 2008

2008-12-14T10:25:00.002Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers and your little pets, and welcome to another winter get-together here at the Stone Quarry in the hidden land of Undergrowby, just below ground in the heavenly happy holiday-land of Blackpool. The week-end Blackpool sun has forced itself through the wintry clouds once again for the benefit of all those lucky week-end holiday-makers, so you can put your pet rocks on the window sill sand-pit for a little sun-bathe while we get down to business.
First, a message to my nice new prefect, Linda. Linda, you asked me if my breathing exercises would help fight the flab. Now Linda, I want you to listen carefully. The Dumpling breathing technique is not a beautifying, tummy-firming exercise. It is a secret internal magical practice designed to empower the Dumpling within. Having said that, pet rocks have been practising the technique for centuries and their little tummies are as hard as a rock, so what can't speak can't lie, Linda. Keep going, and you'll find out. My own little tummy is not so little, in case you were wondering, but it is always extremely rock hard. I had, however, put that down to my fabulously wholesome diet of rock cakes and gravel tea.
You also said you are not wearing your prefect's badge to work. I expect you don't want to make all your coleagues jealous of your new promotion, and I don't blame you. People can be so cruel when they are jealous, but Linda, I think you are worrying for nothing. You are forgetting you live in Scotland and I for one have never heard of a cruel Scot. They are all so smiley and good and would make wonderful pet rock owners, every one of them. I am sure they would all, far from being spiteful and jealous, be congratulating you and organising a celebration party for you, because we all know how they love an excuse for a nice party over there in Scotland. If you are any good at making rock cakes and gravel tea, it could be a pet rock party. Get that prefect's badge on Linda, round up a few kind-hearted friends and start taking orders for more pet rocks immediately, ready for your next trip to Blackpool. Hundreds of half-Scottish orphan pet rocks are secretly depending on you.
And now on to the next step in the Dumpling breathing technique.
You have mastered Finding the Cauldron, Filling the Cauldron, Finding the Dumpling, Lighting the Cauldron and moving the Dumpling up and down, and now you will learn the next step,
MOVING THE DUMPLING FORWARD AND BACK.
First locate the Dumpling by slightly tensing the tummy muscles and seat muscles, and by flicking the muscles up or down, guide the Dumpling to the mid-line. Now, the next time you breathe in, instead of letting the tummy swell out, pull it in to resist the swell and feel your back and sides opening up with the breath. As you breathe out, give your tummy muscles an extra pull inwards to kick the Dumpling towards your spine, and hump your back a little to accommodate it. Then, quickly relax your tumy muscles, breathe in and arch your back again to flick the Dumpling away from the spine forwards towards the stomach wall. With the next few breaths, repeat the forward-and-back spinal tilting and muscle clenching, forwards and back, forwards and back, then reduce the physical action to a much more subtle, mental level, so it is your mind that is moving the Dumpling, and the muscle-clenching, spinal tilting and breath movements are barely there at all.
You will get good at this in no time, and surprise yourself at how powerfully your mind can control that Dumpling.
Using your newly-found subtle powers, using the mind, breath and the minimum of muscle-action, experiment with moving the Dumpling forward, back, up and down and round and round the cauldron at will. It will be happy to work for you, delighted to finally get your attention and eager to show you how limitless are its talents. Once you get to know it you will realise what it is...it is the true, immortal you, the Dumpling within. Mine is me, the true, immortal Madge Dumpling. Yours is, ....what? If you are not called Dumpling, perhaps this would be a good time to add it to the end of your name by deed poll.
Next time we will be taking our activated Dumplings for a controlled trip outside of the cauldron, through the hidden pathways of our mind and body, in the same way that we Growbies travel along our own hidden tunnels here, just below the surface of Blackpool. We never know where we'll pop up next, but pop up we will, you can depend upon it, Rubble Clubbers. As it is such a lovely day, I have itchy feet. I am going to leave you all here together mingling and practicing with your Dunplings and I'm off for a trot along the "cliff" paths just below the Promenade. I have a good feeling about what might be in store for me today, so until next week, keep practicing, Rubble Clubbers, and remember I am always your true friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of thde Rubble Club, 6th &7th December 2008

2008-12-07T11:16:00.002Z

A good sunshiny wintry morning to you all! This is Madge Dumpling, Quarrymistress and chairman of the world-famous Rubble Club, whose doors are flung open to you once again here in the Stone Quarry of the magical world of Undergrowby. No, don't take your coats off. Help yourselves to extra blankets for you and fluffy nests for your little rockies. I have lit some candles in the hearth to take off the chill, but it's still freezing. The rock cakes are covered in frost and there is ice in the gravel tea so you will need to warm them in your hands for a while. Snuggle up together on the sofas and get warm while I do the anouncements.
I am pleased to announce that the Rubble Club has another prefect, thanks to the good judgement of Granny Gray, my shopkeeper at the Magic Wand Factory Shop in Dickson Road, Blackpool. In summer you will remember my love affair with all things Scottish, and my expeditions hidden in the luggage compartments of various Scottish linedancers' coaches. Well, during one of my overnight coach trips to Scotland, I brought back some Scottish rock samples which, thanks to my Dumpling magic, have bred and over time have produced many kind, good tempered pets. It seems however, that the originals were missed by the Scots, who searched the internet to find them. By chance, and good detective work, one rock-seeker happened to stumble through cyber-space over my threshold and suspected I might be the guilty thief, but it is too late, the breeding line is established. Scotland and Blackpool are united in stone for ever.
Some of the offspring have now been returned to Scotland by their new owner and befriender, Linda from Kilmarnoch, who came down to Blackpool on a coach trip herself, and made a special pilgrimage to Dickson Road to root about on my pet rock shelves looking for those pet rocks with tell-tale signs of Scottish lineage(extreme smileyness). Touched by her dedication to pet rocks, and to buy her silence, Granny Gray made her a Rubble Club prefect on the spot. It was lucky I had given her a spare prefect's badge for such emergencies.
To be honest, I think I had a bit of a Dumpling premonition about it during my advanced breathing exercises. (And by the way, if Linedancer, my head prefect, is panicking under the weight of an ever-growing responsibility for all the prefects under her care, there is no need. The Rubble Club and all its departments, even yours, Linedancer, however big or small they are, will run themselves quite effortlessly, by their ever-present heart-centred Dumpling magic.)
And so, on with this week's breathing exercises, "Warming the cauldron"and "Empowering the Dumpling". It will take your minds (and those of your pet rocks) off the winter weather and bring out ever more of the undiscovered Dumpling within.
If you were present at the Rubble Club last week and the week before, you will have already opened your belly, filled the cauldron and found the dumpling. Thanks to the winter, the soup in the cauldron may be feeling a little cold, so this is a helpful hint to turn up the heat. First, close the left nostril with your fingertip, so the air is drawn down into the cauldron through the nostril of fire(the right nostril), filling the cauldron with your favourite form of imaginary warm nourishment(probably my world-famous warmed-up gravel soup). As you breathe out, with each out- breath, vigorously pull up your seat muscles and pull in your lower tummy muscles, as if igniting a pilot light in the space below the cauldron. Continue the pulling up pumping motion for few breaths, as if you were pumping up the bellows below the fire.
Now rest and breathe quietly, listening and observing the swirling, bubbling action of the soup and the dumpling within it. If the pilot light has refused to light, try again, this time pulling up only the right hand side of the seat muscles, and the right hand side of the bottom, which corresponds to the right kidney(the seat of fire power within). That should do it. If it still won't light, your muscles must be a bit withered and your cauldron may have sprung a leak. Keep practising the squeezing, pumping and resting and everything will return to the place where it belongs. Your obviously distressed Dumpling will thank you in the long run, and as it recovers any winter health problems will disappear.
Empowering the Dumpling.
Once the soup in your cauldron is warm and bubbling locate the precious Dumpling within and observe its subtle movements. The next exercise is about helping the Dumpling to move in a set direction by the power of mind and breath combined. First, we will concentrate on moving it up and down....up with the in-breath and down with the out-breath,( which is its very nature and if you are in good health, this will be happening anyway).
Dumpling up.
As you breathe in, the soup splashes down onto the floor of the cauldron, naturally stirring the dumpling up to the middle of the belly. If it sticks to the floor of the cauldron, flick up your seat muscles and kick it up into the air on the out-breath. Holding the breath in after the next in-breath, check if the dumpling is around the mid-line by squeezing in your tummy muscles. You should feel a little dumpling-shaped knot of resistance if you have been successful. If not keep practicing. Dumpling down.
As you breathe out, visualise the Dumpling slowly sinking like a pet rock to the floor of your belly. If you are a sensitive type, you can even feel it bouncing to the bottom in a subtle, invisible kind of way. If you feel nothing, and fear the Dumpling is stuck at the top, you need to take more physical control. With the next out-breath, squeeze your chest walls in and your diaphragm down, and hold the breath out for longer. To check if the Dumpling has descended, just flick up your seat muscles for a moment and the Dumpling will make its presence felt by its subtle resistance. If you can't feel it, be patient, like a pet rock and practice, practice, practice. Think of it as a form of winter sport which has only one winner...you! One day I will be looking for an apprentice to inherit the Dumpling Magic and only those who prove themselves be dedicated dumpling breathers will be considered. Till next week, keep your cauldrons boiling and practice moving your Dumpling up and down and the time will fly. In future weeks, you can scarcely imagine where our Dumplings will end up!
Until then I remain your faithful friend and kindly informative chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Weekend Meeting of the Rubble Club 30th November 2008

2008-11-30T11:35:00.002Z

Hello everyone, pet rock owners and your little pets and also wandering magic wand collectors. I am Madge Dumpling, pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club. Wanderella's Weekend Web is closed for the winter, so all its disappointed, invisible cyber-space visitors may instead be joining us here at the Stone Quarry. Rubble Clubbers, be on your best behaviour please. Rockies, no rattling or scowling please! We don't want to scare them off the minute they come through the door, do we? I have plenty of pet rock adoption papers at the ready, and double the usual rock cakes and gravel tea(cold, sorry), so I am hoping for a good turn-out.
Don't bother to take off your coats, Rubble Clubbers, because the fire is out. Smoking chimneys would alert the Time and Tide Inspector to my activities, so I am saving my secret stash of fuel for magical emergencies. We Growbies are supposed to stay asleep in our bed cupboards snuggled inside warm winter cocoons, but for those who suffer bouts of wakefulness, like myself, we Growbies have winter breathing techniques for internal warming in cold weather, which you will learn from me as the weeks progress. Meanwhile, keep your coats on.
Straight on to this week's magical breathing programme without delay. Pet rocks need not be taught the techniques, they are born with them ingrained into their nature. No, Rubble Clubbers, I am sharing my Dumpling breathing programme with your good selves in exchange for the work you do for the pet rocks in your care. You may observe your clever pet rocks demonstrating the internal mind-breath stillness techniques for you, but it will be a while before you are able to master the technique as well as them. We are only on lesson two, after all.
Lesson one , opening the belly, was described in last weeks notes.

LESSON TWO..."Finding the cauldron, Filling the cauldron and Finding the dumpling."

Finding the cauldron.
Last week, you mastered the art of filling the belly with the heavenly dumpling-forming magic of the breath, so there is a nice, powerful feeling in the belly where once there was very little. Now we are going to learn how and where to direct the dumpling-forming power so we can use it.
At the bottom of the belly there is a curved vessel-shaped space, where the belly ends and before the legs begin. It fills the whole lower ground floor of the belly between the sitting bones, hips, tailbone and front pubic bone, and nestled within the bones of this vessel-shaped space, imagine a large, invisible, flexible, magical cauldron containing a condensed drop or two of my fabulous invisible gravel soup. Once you have located it, you will wonder why you had never noticed it before.

Filling the Cauldron.
As you breathe in, imagine that, along with the breath, more soup is funnelled down into the bottom of the cauldron, and as you breathe out, feel the swirling, magical sensation in your belly as the contents settle. In your mind, poke around inside the cauldron to see if there are any empty spaces. Different parts of the cauldron relate to different parts of the body and mind. For instance, if there is an empty gap right at the bottom, it would refer to the lower organs, perhaps the bladder or large intestine. Concentrate on filling up all such gaps to balance the body and mind, and leave you as well rounded and stable as a pet rock. A few breaths later you may feel that the cauldron is full enough for you to move to stage three," finding the dumpling".

Finding the Dumpling.
If you are doing the exercise right, a magical thing will happen. A solid, dumpling-like object will appear in the middle of the soup. It was always there but you were unaware of it. Once you get your mind in your belly, you will find the dumpling. It usually appears midway between your front and back, just below the tummy button, deep within the midst of the soup, during the time between the out-breath and the in-breath.
So, as you breathe out slightly squeeze the tummy muscles on all sides. Pull up your bottom muscles as if you were trying not to go to the toilet. The dumpling will resist the squeeze and then you will have located it. The more you practice the squeezing breath, the smaller, more condensed, solid and strong the dumpling will become, like a tiny pet rock. Between now and next week, work on squeezing and rounding your dumpling until it is so small it almost disappears. It is a magical tool which only you can create and perfect....a tool which cannot be bought....a tool which is part of you undiscovered till this magical moment. It will deliver to you powers of health, vitality and working with the invisible. When you have the feeling that the dumpling is at least as small as a pea, we can progress to the next stage, "Warming the cauldron" and "Empowering the dumpling." That will be next week's lesson. Until then I remain your helpful little friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 28th November 2008

2008-11-28T17:49:00.002Z

Hello to all pet rocks and their owners, this is Madge Dumpling, your friendly chairman welcoming you to the Rubble Club. Nobody has been through my door all week because everyone else is probably asleep. I am hoping some of you invisible cyber space members, (like my wonderful head prefect, Linedancer, who writes such a lovely letter), are here somewhere inside the back of my magic laptop, to keep me and the rockies company. I have just had an idea! I am popping up the lane to Wanderella Windmeddler's house to put a note on the door, telling everyone she is asleep and to come round to my house instead. Well, if she can't be bothered to stay awake, she doesn't deserve loyalty. Once they have tasted my rock cakes they will be mine for ever. The Rubble Club is a welcoming haven of delights for everyone, even wand collectors.
They won't be there till weekend, so I am postponing the Rubble Club meeting till then for the foreaseeable future. Then, Rubblers, we shall continue the Dumpling breathing exercises which I started last week. Linedancer, I am sorry to tell you that you have missed the White Mist gift exchange. It only happens during the season of the White Mist, just before the long winter sleep, hence its name. I was expecting you then, punctual and dutiful as you uasually are, but you were not to be seen so I thought you had forgotten me. I have, however, saved you a little something, which I will give you when you call in. Think yourself lucky I am not asleep like your other friend, Wanderella Windmeddler.
Till tomorrow, this is Madge Dumpling busily signing out as I set off to steal us a few more members. Please make sure you return for the breathing practice.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 21 November 2008

2008-11-21T12:36:00.002Z

Hello, this is Madge Dumpling, chairman of the Rubble Club, speaking to you from a very cool parlour in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. I have lit an oil lamp in the middle of the hearth where the fire should be, so you can all warm your hands. If I were to light a proper fire, the Time and Tide Inspector would spot the smoke rising from my chimney and immediately record the Stone Quarry's ' irresponsible waste of fuel' in the scandal column of his annual report, so I have to keep fire-lighting to a minimum during the long winter sleep. Only we dedicated Rubble Club members need to be aware I am awake,( and fully in support of pet rocks and their owners world-wide), to save any more gossip than necessary.
I know what you are thinking...no fire...what about those freshly-baked rock cakes you have grown so fond of, and when will they be back on the buffet table? Well, fear not, Rubblers, because I have thought well ahead and my secret pantry is full of them, stored in stone jars, enough to last for months. They may develop an interesting wintery flavour from being stored because of the different crusty moulds which develop over time. The buffet will, however, have to be served cold for the foreseeable future. Do help yourselves!
I am pleased to see you and your little rockies have all survived Waterfall Week unscathed and so have I. Now, as all activity ceases around us, it is time for the magical inner work to begin. You already have the ideal teachers in your midst. Pet rocks, under my Dumpling-method form of tuition have perfected the magical art of winter stillness breathing and if asked, will model the age-old technique for you to copy. See, there they are on my mantelpiece doing it as we speak.
By faithful practice they have learnt how to compact the breath in their bellies using their strong muscles and even stronger minds, so that very little movement is required to supply all the magical needs of the overwintering re-charge. Their breathing movement is so slight it is imperceptible. You might think it has stopped altogether, but the movement has simply transferred itself to the mind for the duration of the winter. Eager students and fast learners as pet rocks are, they are now more skillful at the technique than I am myself, who inherited it reluctantly from a long line of outstanding Dumpling masters. Perhaps an ancient pet rock was the truly original creator of the form and an ancient Dumpling magician liked it and decided to take credit for it. I sometimes wonder.
Over the wintery weeks I will share the Dumpling magic breathing technique with you, if you are having trouble understanding how it works. The first thing to practice is belly-work. That begins with thinking about the middle and lower belly opening and closing with each breath. While your mind is in your lower belly no one will be able to push you over because you will be bottom-heavy. It's a handy thing to practise when you are holding a ladder for somebody. It is a useful antidote to fear.
Rubblers, I suspect a simple form of lower belly breathing is enough for you to practise for the first week. You may be doubting that it is a truly magical technique. Well you can prove it for yourself. If you have a friend or family member who is awake for the winter, tell them to stand behind you. First, think about the top of your head as you breathe and imagine the breath-magic filling the topmost part of your skull. Get your friend to give you a little push from behind and you will find you are so top heavy you will start to topple forwards right away.
Next, think about your lower belly and focus all the magical breath action there. Get your friend to push you again and see how much more bottom-heavy and stable you are, just like a pet rock. That's how powerfully your mind can move matter. Do not underestimate the power of the mind and breath combined. Together they are a force to be reckoned with. It gets better, Rubble Clubbers, but this is your starting point in the Dumping school of belly breath control. Open up that belly of yours to the forces of magic and over the winter, as the technique unfolds, you will learn how to move mountains in a quiet, unassuming and truly magical way, much like myself.
Right, it's time to go and get back in my cocoon, read the Undergrowby Gnews again and again and do a bit of knitting. If the weather turns nasty I will be joining you in the belly breathing session, (advanced form, of course). It distracts me nicely from having to listen to the drip-drip-dripping of the rain.
It was lovely to reunite with you all in secret cyber-space. I perfectly understand that nobody wanted to write to me in the gloom and doom of Waterfall Week, but now it is over, please start writing again. I look forward to your words of comfort, sympathy, praise and support, which you know I truly deserve. Enjoy your introductory breathing exercises and we'll move to the more exciting second stage next week. Be warm until then. I remain your cosily-cocooned friend and Rubble Club Chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 14th November 2008

2008-11-14T10:28:00.002Z

Hello, this is Madge Dumpling welcoming all pet rocks everywhere to another get-together, and of course all you pet rock owners out there in cyber space who have not yet entered the long winter sleep. Welcome, all of you to my deathly quiet parlour here in the Stone Quarry! Ah, winter is a frightfully quiet time for a wide-awake Growby like myself, what with all that sleeping going on all around. It's lucky I have you and my rockies to talk to. If only they could make an intelligible sound in return instead of just rattling,... but then they would not be true to their nature, and life would not be the same, and I would not be Madge Dumpling.
It seems the humans here in Blackpool are very forgetful. Despite sensibly remembering to switch off the Blackpool Illuminations, not only have they forgotten to go to sleep for the winter, they have forgotten that this is the dreaded Waterfall Week. Anyone still awake and wandering around outside in Waterfall Week is tempting bad luck and all manner of disasters to descend upon them. However, here in Blackpool there are still humans out there strolling around as if it were just any other week! No wonder it has been raining and blowing a gale all week! No wonder I hear arguing, shouting, banging, tripping and falling, cars crashing and babies crying! Well, what do they expect?
All you Rubble Clubbers will have remembered to stay indoors of course, because you have your memory banks (your little rockies) to remind you, and they know off-by-heart all the important dates, Undergrowby seasons and time-patterns of the sun moon and stars. Experienced pet rock keepers have only to hold their pet rocks to their foreheads for the thought transfer to take place and the knowledge to be imparted. Perhaps I ought to write down the Undergrowby calendar for the benefit of all those poor humans out there who have no pet rocks to remind them, and also for those Rubble Clubbers who have not quite got the hang of the thought-transfer technique. (It just takes time and practice, practuice, practice!) In case I never finish writing the calendar, please bring your notebooks to the Rubble Club meetings and take notes from my wise words as the year unfolds, then, by next year, you will have the complete picture and can write your own.
No, my rockies have more sense than to expect to go for a walk during the dark, dangerous days of Waterfall Week, and like nothing better than to sit wrapped in their blankets and knitted hats with their backs to the world, pretending to be asleep, much like myself. Waterfall Week is Mother Nature's way of scaring everyone indoors and into their cocoons for the long winter sleep, in case they should have failed to respect the warnings of the season of the White Mist. Winter is a very frightening season, slippery, cold and wet, especially in the gnomestead known as the Watery Wetlands, just north and west of here, and most especiallyh during Waterfall Week. It is very dangerous to health, especially the bones, teeth, bladder and kidneys.
It's obvious why.
Bones get broken when you fall over on the ice, teeth get hurt and broken chattering together in the frosty air, bladders let you down when you take a tumble and wet your pants. Your kidneys, amongst dealing with the waterworks and power source, store the magical life essences (which had better not freeze up or you're dead). Only the bravest and most magical of us goes out in winter, even after the dreaded Waterfall Week, and I, as you know, am one of them. I get wrapped up in my thick brown winter shawl, carry only one specimen at a time and I walk very slowly and carefully, holding onto the walls as I go. If you are brave enough to go out in winter, I hope you do the same. It is one of the secrets of a long life.
Help yourselves to last week's rock cakes and cold tea. I am sorry the fire is out, but it is bad luck to cook and light fires during Waterfall Week, as you probably know. We are expected to be in our winter cocoons at all times, or risk being accused of irresponsible conduct. Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, ever watchful over us all, would spot the smoke from my chimney and ring the alarm bells if I dared to defy the Waterfall Week Rules of Conduct. My name would go down in his annual report in the 'Shamed' column, for all to read about in next year's Undergrowby Gnews.
Never mind, Rubblers, I know you are disappointed there is no smell of charred, smoking rock cakes in the air, but I have a big stone jar full of the aforesaid last week's rock cakes and a few flagons of cold tea at the ready for you, Rubble Clubbers. I know how you like your little treats. I am pleased to see you have your little pets wrapped up warmly and glowing with contentment from the kindness and love you have shown them. That is all they will ask of you for the scary weeks ahead. Keep them safe and they will keep you safe and lucky through the winter. A happy pet rock, as you know, makes a lucky home (except for this week. Waterfall Week's dangers are more than even a pet rock can ward off). That being said, take care and hold onto the wall when you leave, and when you get home, jump straight into your cocoons and stay there until next week, when you must, of course, return. Until then, I remain your stoic little friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 6th November 2008

2008-11-06T10:05:00.004Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers and your rocky little friends, and welcome to the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. I have set up a nice warm, welcoming sand-pit for visiting pet rocks on the mantlepiece today, so if you please, place your own little friends in the sand next to the pet rocks of their choice and then your hands will be free to help yourselves to the buffet. While they have a good old sand-bathing session, we have your old favourites, rock cakes and gravel tea, and a little extra treat, gritty baps for you to toast on the fire for extra crispiness. The fire is glowing, ready for you. Get comfy and watch the pet rocks mingling on the mantlepiece. It's heavenly, isn't it? Home from home.
Well, the White Mist finally descended this week. It started at the weekend and lasted for three or four days. The last of the White Mist gifts were exchanged in the final hugging festivities and then the Belly-breathing Ceremony began. (The White Mist, as you probably know, contains all the vital heavenly essences needed to help us through the winter, so only a fool would not take a good bellyful of it.) Last minute preparations are then made for the big shut-down. Fuel supplies, roots and water are brought indoors. Parlour games and the Undergrowby Gnewspaper are placed in a handy spot next to the bed cupboard in case of wakefulness and the cocoons are brought out.
The entire population of Growbies are now, as I speak, tightly wrapped in their winter cocoons and Undergrowby has officially gone to sleep for the winter. All except for me. I just pretend to go to sleep. It's my guilty secret and I will now share it with you, Rubble Clubbers. Please keep it in confidence.
Ever since I inherited the Dumpling family secret, (the pet rock-making magic), I have been a fitful sleeper. In fact I hardly sleep at all, which is a shamefully weak thing for a Growby to confess. In Undergrowby, extreme winter sleeping is considered a prize-winning virtue. Endurance sleeping is the only winter sport Growbies will even consider. You know me, Rubblers, I like my competitions, and would dearly love to compete in the sleeping competitions, but there is no point even entering unless I can be the outright winner, as I used to be in my youth.
When the trouble first started I sought help from Doc Leaf, but he can do nothing for it except to recommend that I go easy on the rock cakes and gravel tea, but what kind of nonsense is that? Does he want me to starve? No, I am resigned to be without hope and completely on my own(except for the pets, and now your good selves) with my secret. In between little cocoon naps in the bed cupboard next to my snoring husband, Malcolm, I am doomed to roam the lanes of Undergrowby alone till spring, checking up on this and that, unnoticed by anyone. Since we moved to Blackpool, human activity is all around us, so the lanes are not entirely empty now. There is still much for me to see and do.
Most of the humans have disappeared for the winter (no doubt they are at home asleep in their bed cupboards hoping to win their own sleeping competitions). The pigeons are still waddling around the promenade eating chips, I notice, and there are a few human families strolling dreamily along the beautiful Blackpool promenade, kindly sharing their chips with the pigeons as they search for the Magic Wand Factory Shop. It is a secret shop tucked tantalisingly away at the end of Dickson Road, far away from the town centre and only the fittest and most magical of the humans will ever find it, which will be a great disappointment to many.
I now have a news report for you. Last night, the whole town had a shock! Some wicked, rowdy humans lit a bonfire and without notice, set off a banging, crashing firework display. Just because they are hopeless sleepers, like myself, (and obviously not taking part in the sleeping competitions), does not give them the right to spoil others' chances, does it?
I was already awake of course, but I blew out my candle and jumped into my cocoon, pretending I was asleep in case anyone should call round to blame me for the noise(they know how I love a bonfire and a firework display). Indeed, I just wish I had been warned about it in advance, because the rockies love a bonfire too, and they would have been delighted to watch the fireworks, especially now since the Blackpool Illuminations have been switched off in polite respect for for the long winter sleep.
All in all, it was a very frustrating time and has left me in a bad temper. Those pigeons, my so-called friends, might have notified me. It's at times like this that you find out who your friends really are! I bet they were all there themselves, pecking round at all that bonfire food! Rubblers, if you hear of any bonfire parties going on through the winter, please send me, your friend, an invitation, but do not invite the pigeons!
Now, on to business. I know what your chief concerns will be at the moment, Rubble Clubbers. Now that the Blackpool Illuminations have been switched off, how can you inspire your pet rocks with the will to live and survive their most hated season, winter. Winter hobbies are the solution, Rubblers, and preferably really boring ones, boring enough to send them to sleep over and over again. I Spy is one of my favourites. As I am the only one who can speak, it is always my turn, and guess which letter is my favourite? Yes that's right,... R. The rockies love it, because they always guess the answer, and they know I know they know. Then I pretend to hear someone answer, and I clap and present someone with a prize (a pat on the head).
Another favourite pet rock hobby is reading. I read and they listen. I read them the Undergrowby Gnews over and over again. It's always a winner. Cooking is another one. I cook and they watch. Dried root soup is the traditional winter dish in Undergrowby, but now we are in Blackpool, I may bring back a few more exciting ingredients for the cookery game from the bins behind the hotels. Potato peelings and eggshells are some of the delicacies I have learned to select. They give the dried root soup that extra crunchy, rocky, lumpy texture we in the Stone Quarry know and love. Pet rocks love to paddle in it.
Sometimes the rockies are extra-irritable on windy days in winter, much like myself. I can tell because they start to rattle in the draught. Then I set up the draughts board and line them up in teams of light and dark to play off against each other. It wears them out nicely,... and that is why a draughts board is called a draughts board of course. It was originally invented in Undergrowby as a distracting pet rock winter hobby at times of high wind.
If you come up with any new winter sports for your pet rocks, please share them with the other Rubble Club members. (Post me a comment if you are clever enough to work out how).There will be a fabulous prize for the best one.
I will leave you with that job while I wander down to the Wandmaker's Forest to see if Wanderella Windmeddler has already shut up shop for the winter. She usually leaves a few dozen free magic wands outside for desperate winter visitors to choose from, and I like to take my pick first. I never shop there at any other time because we don't get on very well, as you know. She's such a copycat. When she heard about my laptop she had to have one, and now, when she has a made a weekend web in cyberspace and is receiviing regular visitors, she just goes to sleep and leaves them to cater for themselves. It's selfish! I'm going to see if there is a queue outside and if there is I will tell them to go home for the winter.
So I will leave you now, Rubble Clubbers, and I will be back next Friday, depend upon it. They don't call me Wanderella! Until we meet again. I remain your irritated little friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 31st October 2008

2008-10-31T09:23:00.004Z

Welcome, pet rock fanciers and your little rocky friends. Come on in out of the cold. It won't be long before mine is one of the only doors open around these parts, because the season of the White Mist has been threatening to descend for a few days now. A few little whisps of mist are drifting around you as you stand in the queue outside, did you notice? That's the Sign! We Growbies are rushing here and there delivering our presents to each other in readiness for the onset of the long winter sleep, heralded by the descent of the White Mist. No one dares to have more than they need in their larders during the season of the White Mist for fear of someone elsewhere having less than they need, (whose death from winter starvation would bring great bad luck upon the magical land of Undergrowby in the coming year). As a consequence I have a many interesting new titbits on my table than you have ever seen, nut cakes, nettle pies, gnomeberry dumplings, tangleroot crunch, dandelion fizz, mint boulders, ice water, etc., but don't worry, Rubblers, they are just gifts to me. I'll have them tidied away in a trice to make way for my own choice of buffet which you know and love, rock cakes and gravel tea.
What is that tinkling noise? I think there is a fairy lost in our midst. Moptop Copperleaf, this is not the home of Wanderella Windmeddler. This is the Stone Quarry, headquarters of the Rubble Club and I am its chairman, the world-famous Madge Dumpling. You can be in the Rubble Club if you like, but you must first own a pet rock.
Wanderella Windmeddler, whom you seek, is the chief wand-maker of the Magic Wand Factory and she lives to the south east of here in the gnomestead known as the Wandmakers' Forest. Hurry off with you, if you are delivering your presents because she is always one of the first to jump into her winter cocoon and one of the last ones out of it. Nothing disturbs her once she has squeezed herself down into her cocoon. Between you and me, what with her shrieking voice and sound sleeping habits, I think she must be a bit deaf, well, either deaf or completely selfish.
She is most unlike my dutiful self, I who always put others' needs before my own. I will be here hosting the Rubble Club, braving the winter to keep you and my little rockies happy. I might climb into my cocoon and have a little snooze now and again, or read last year's Undergrowby Gnews till it is threadbare, but rest assured, Rubble Clubbers, on Fridays I will be wide awake and busy as a bee, grinding up the rock cakes for your buffet.
Only my neighbour, Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, outwakes me. His job is to keep a ledger of all the comings and goings in Undergrowby, which he oversees from his tall seafront watchtower in the north. He is a cold shoulder, and poor company at the best of times, but in winter his spirits turn to ice and will not even wave at me through his window when I go out looking for specimens lost in the snow. I would dearly love to get up there in that watchtower of his and snoop out upon everyone for just a few moments but he never lets me in, no matter how many baskets of rock cakes I try to deliver to him. He just ignores me, pretends he is too busy and slams the door. No wonder he has no friends. I have to be content to read his lengthy annual report in the Undergrowby Gnews and imagine myself there witnessing it all for myself.
This week Granny Gray, my shopkeeper at the Magic Wand Factory at the far north end of Dickson Road, Blackpool, has had several delightfully noteworthy visits from some officials of the Rubble Club. My young prefects, John and Jacob and their wise, understanding mother Julie from Farnworth, Bolton, have set up a pretty little aquarium to entertain their little rocky pals and they arrived at the shop with their fish carrier in a little basket(which no doubt doubles as a pet rock carrier at other times) to collect a shoal of baby minnows from Granny Gray.
They also took a pet rock roundabout and various other bits and bobs top further enhance their already fabulously extravagant pet rock living quarters.
Julie, who is one of Granny Gray's favourite Rubble Clubbers, happens to be a talented and prolific artist and she honoured me(via Granny Gray) with one of her beautiful paintings (I suspect it was a White Mist gift, the only one I have ever received from a human). I have placed a photograph of it in pride of place at the top of the page and I shall be framing the original and having it displayed in the shop. It's a pet rock family portrait. There you are, Moptop Copperleaf, that's what pampered pet rocks look like. For her inspirational work in the service of the Rubble Club, Julie has consequently been awarded a Madge Dumpling Special Award badge.
The aforementioned prefects, John and Jacob, came in to the shop wearing their pet rock bouncing nets attached to their clothing, and as promised, they won the star prize for the competition, which was an underwater magic wand stall complete with Undergrowby's champion underwater nose-holding wizard stall-holder( to go in their fish tank). Jacob and John, if you please, just let the wizard out of the fish tank once a year so he can take a breath of fresh air, unless you decide to have the stall out on dry land. He will continue to show off his breath-holding technique for ever, no matter where he is placed. Well, Rubblers, if we could hold our breath for a year, we'd be showing off too, wouldn't we? A round of applause for the winners, John and Jacob!
I am pleased to see that many of you have apparently decided to present each other with orphan pet rocks for your White Mist gift exchange this year, because there has been an unprecedented upturn in the adoption rate. I was not aware that humans celebrated the White Mist, but I can't think what other reason there could be for the sudden rush. Anyway, good that the little darlings find nice welcoming new homes for the winter. The Rubble Club membership will be swollen with warm-hearted, entertaining newcomers to keep us company during the lonely winter months. Next week I will bake extra rock cakes to cater for you all. They're world-famously unmissable, as you will discover.
Tonight, it seems, is the sweet-eating Halloween Party night in the human world, and the Magic Wand Factory shop has been full of humans dressed up as monsters and bedraggled beggars, begging for sweets from a very frightened Granny Gray, who has no sweets to give them. I have sent her off on an expedition to the sweet shop, (leaving Grandad Gray alone to face the mob), to get herself better equipped because the Halloweeners have threatened trouble if they do not get any. Dressed the way they are, I suspect they might be capable of bringing on a rainstorm, which is the only kind of trouble pet rocks care about, so Grandad Gray, the first line of defence, will have to ward them off the best he can until Granny arrives home with the sweets.
I had better go and shout at her to speed her up, so I will leave you now, Rubblers, to mingle with each other and if you have something to say to me, please leave a message and I will reply in person. I remain eternally your faithful chairman and anxious little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 24th October 2008

2008-10-24T11:28:00.002+01:00

Come on in, Rubble Clubbers, welcome once again to my parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. I am the famous Madge Dumpling, your chairman and pet rock expert and over there is the fabulous Friday buffet of rock cakes and gravel tea, freshly prepared especially for you. My parlour is sparklingly clean, thanks to my husband, Malcolm, and the pet rocks are scrubbed shiny and nicely arranged in teams of five with the biggest in the middle. Five is the correct magical grouping number for pet rocks, but only during the changing of the seasons. In the next season (the season of the white mist, or late autumn), they will be in sevens and when winter arrives, the magic grouping number is One, a solitary number hated by pet rocks almost as much as they hate the rain. They would not thrive alone, so in winter I group them in one great big group, as close together as possible, so they are sort of One, but all together. I haven't got the heart to separate them. Even the naughty pet rocks I group closely together as One,...one big naughty gang,(except for the one in the bottom of the fish tank, waiting for Tom Moffat) so they can scowl wickedly at each other all through the winter.
Next item, Announcements.
I am pleased to announce that my wonderful head prefect, Linedancer, is on the mend, but as a result of her illness, has started to talk in a strange tongue. Doc Leaf is confused and intrigued, because he has never come across this as a side effect of a torn ankle ligament ever before. She has been on a coach trip to foreign parts, looking for a venue for the next Rubble Club outing, and so he fears perhaps she has picked up a rare foreign brain disease. It's sad, but we'll stand by her, won't we, Rubblers? In the words of the aforementioned Doc Leaf, "Gnature cures while-u-wait", so, according to that it will be just a matter of time before she recovers completely. Personally I like to speed up the healing process with a little self-help. In this case I recommend my own tried and tested favourite remedies...a nice crispy rock cake and a cup of my fabulous speciality tea. My world-famous recipes are not only delicious, they are also cure-alls. Feeble, limping patients have thrown away their crutches and run off back to work at the mere sight of them. Doc Leaf denies it, (he's jealous) but I suspect they might have a spooky little healing aura, visible only to the sick, which is of course why he is determined to be blind to it.
Now, this week I have been experimenting with something. While visiting the local back yards and popping in through the handy gnome flaps provided by the Blackpool Rubble Club members, I often see some interesting sights which give me new ideas. A few days ago, for instance, I witnessed a baby being strapped into a harness and hung from a door-frame by a giant elastic band while its mother got on with the housework. I was just about to shout out a few stern words to that cruel mother and banish her from the Rubble Club for ever when a strange thing happened. The baby did not cry out in objection as I expected, but just bounced up and down, up and down and chuckled away merrily, as if it were enjoying itself.
You can guess what I was thinking, can't you, Rubble Clubbers? If only pet rocks had little feet to push themselves up in the air with, they could have such fun in a miniature version of the baby-bouncing rubber band. Undaunted, I have come up with an enabling solution.
I went rooting through the bins at the cafe up the road, where I gather many of my key ingredients for my recipes, and found some orange netting bags wrapped around some mouldy oranges. I discarded the oranges and shredded the netting bags into scraps just big enough to envelop a pet rock with an inch to spare on all sides. I took my most obedient pet rock and Rubble Club fashion model, Little Pearly Pebble, and wrapped her in the orange mesh. She looked very cute in orange(but she looks cute in anything, which is why she is my fashion model) and peeped seductively at the other pet rocks through the holes in the netting. I gathered the netting together above her head and tied it with one of Granny Gray's rubber bands. I looped another rubber band through the first rubber band to act as a hanging thread to complete my pet rock bouncer. I dangled the bouncer in the air and Pearly Pebble started to bounce around just like the aforementioned baby in the house. She loved it and one by one, the other rockies took their turns and they all agreed it was a sensational device.
The only problem is, pet rocks have no feet and so they will always have to depend on us to supply the bouncing movement. but never fear, Rubble Clubbers, I have a solution up my sleeve. It comes in the form of a safety pin (or your prefect's badge, you prefects), pinned into your clothing so wherever you go you can be hands-free and still activate your pet rock bouncers, and your pet rocks, while bouncing, will be able to see everything that is going on around you and remember facts and figures for their vast, ever-hungry memory banks( remembering things is their favourite hobby, as you should already know). I myself have, dutifully as ever, taken up the yoke of service to pet rocks and as I speak, I am decked out in hundreds of gaudy little orange bags pinned to my yellow outfit. I am now on the look-out for netting bags in different colours to blend more quietly with my wardrobe, and have set the gossip-mongering local pigeons(who always seem to have too much time on their hands anyway) the task of overhead surveillance, seek and rescue for this important mission. I had to pretend it was a game, a sort of treasure hunt. The prize for the winner(the fetcher of scraps of netting in every colour of the rainbow) will be the crumbs from my buffet table. I should have plenty of material in no time at all. Trust me. Those pigeons love my delicious grit-enriched crumbs.
Let this be an inspiration to you, Rubble Clubbers. I will no doubt be seeing hundreds of you walking along Blackpool Promenade on your way to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, wearing your pet rock bouncers like a badge of honour. The first one to appear in the shop wearing (at least) one will be given a special prize. Until then, or until next Friday, whichever comes first, I remain your faithful friend and ever hopeful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 17th October 2008

2008-10-17T12:56:00.002+01:00

Better late than never, here I am, out of breath and glad of a rest, Rubble Clubbers, your faithful little friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling . I have been up to my neck in endless washing since the crack of dawn, getting the little pet rockies' winter blankets scrubbed and dried in the autumn breeze before it turns too cold to do the laundry. I am only half-way through, but the Rubble Club meeting now takes priority.
When do I do my own washing, I hear you wonder, with all these pet rock blankets to get through? It's simple, I have put my husband, Malcolm Dumpling, in charge of cleaning and re-stuffing our own fresh winter cocoons and cleaning out the bed cupboards ready for the long winter sleep, in between doing all the other house-work. Well, I have enough to do, don't I? Being a world-famous expert pet rock whisperer and chairman of the Rubble Club is a full time job.
Come on in, Rubble Clubbers, you have queued up outside long enough now. I am pleased to see you have your pet rocks suitably attired for the cooler weather, wrapped up in cotton wool balls and blankets, stuffed into babies' socks, surrounded by hot water bottles, etc.. Very well done, Rubblers!
My trusty prefect, Linedancer, is still off sick(dutifully waiting for gnature to cure her) so I am single handed here at the Rubble Club, but I am taking it in my stride like the unstoppable little rock that I am. You know me by now, Rubblers, and you have never heard me complain, have you? There is never a moment's lapse in my self-denial. Even now, as my hands are red raw with all the washing, the beach is full of uncollected rock samples, my prefect is off sick, uncomplainingly I still manage to find the time to make the rock cakes for the Rubble Club's morning buffet, even though it is already afternoon and my weary arms and legs are aching. Move over, Rubblers and let me get to the rock cakes and gravel tea. I need to be revivied. That's better! Now I feel more like a vigorous little gossiping session with you all before I carry on with the washing.
Granny Gray, my shopkeeper at the Magic Wand Factory on Dickson Road, Blackpool, has had a busy week finding homes for all those magic wands and other 'magical' bits and bobs she has littering the place, getting in the way of my pet rock display. No wonder the pet rocks have not been moving fast of late, no one can see them for all that other stuff. Yesterday I was hiding under the shop counter listening to her selling something to someone and she never said "And how many pet rocks would you like with that?" like I trained her to do. I gave her a good ticking off, I can tell you, and when the next customers came in I listened to her again to check she was behaving herself. It was a delightful family from America, from Nashville, Tennessee, with two well-behaved children who never even looked at the pet rocks. They were too busy choosing their magic wands to notice the pet rocks calling out to them from the back of the shop. Just as they were leaving, Granny Gray handed them both an orphan pet rock and talked them through the adoption procedure. She made it sound like agony, and it just goes to show how kind and lovely the people of Nashville, Tenessee are, because, despite Granny Gray's feeble salesmanship, they instantly agreed to join the Rubble Club and take the orphans home with them.
Linedancer, I understand from the conversation I overheard from under the counter that Nashville Tenessee is the home of country linedancing music and has many thousands of coach trips of linedancers in their cowboy hats, such as yourself visiting its ballrooms to have a little dance. Perhaps we should organise the Seagull Coaches of Blackpool to take us there for our next Rubble Club outing. That is, of course, when you are well again, Linedancer. Please write to me, Rowan and Emma from Tennessee and give me the directions to your house, so I can tell the coach driver.
I and the all the pet rocks in the party can stay at your house. There will be plenty of room for me, I am only six inches tall and I will bring my own blanket. I and the rockies can sleep in the cat's basket along with your pet rocks who will love to have a sleepover with their old friends. Pet rocks (and myself)love to snuggle up to a nice furry cat. For the sake of security, I and the cat may need to have a snoop around your house in the night and check your cupboards for intruders. I might help myself to a little snack as I go, but rest assured I will not feed the cat any sweets.
Overnight, if your kitchen is equipped, I will make you some nice gritty breakfast rock cakes for all the pet rocks in the party in return.( I like to pay my way with my best efforts.) The other Rubble Clubbers can sleep in the coach outside and they will bring their own sandwiches. We are no trouble, are we, Rubblers?
If this trip to Nashville, Tennessee does not happen, Rubble Clubbers, do not despair. We can all rack our brains to think of an alternative.
The baby fish in the fish tank are growing bigger and bigger and it is now time for a few more of you to get a fish tank filled up ready to adopt a few of them. Winter(which is on its way) is the season of the water element, and what better water element accessory can you have than a fish tank, Rubblers? It will help to hypnotise your pet rocks to sleep the winter away and give you some peace and quiet while you wait patiently for spring to arrive. Water is the wellspring of life, and correctly placed in your home, (in the north or at the back of the room or house) will help to create great abundance. In our case, the abundance came in the form of hundreds of tiny fishes growing bigger every day, but you can hope and wish for a more useful form of abundance yourself.
Please excuse me now, Rubble Clubbers, while I leave you and go back to my washing. Talk among yourselves. I will be listening in not far away. Till next week, I remain your blanket-scrubbing little friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 10th October 2008

2008-10-10T10:39:00.004+01:00

Hello and welcome to you all on this bright autumn day. This is Madge Dumpling again in the service of pet rocks and their gentle owners worldwide, re-opening the doors of the Stone Quarry to you all. The rock cakes have lost their crispness, I'm afraid, because I made them during the cold snap a couple of days ago and they caught a touch of the damp overnight when it rained in. Still, I know some of you like them soggy, so dig in!
First, the mailbag. Linedancer, I am distraught that you have injured yourself and I have consulted Doc Leaf who has signed you off sick until further notice. Well, according to him, ligaments and tendons are governed by the wood element, and if injured need rest, support and gentle twirling movements of every other joint in the body except for the damaged area, to keep the wood element supple. Pay particular attention to the head, neck, shoulders and eyes. Invent a little wobbly dance with your eyes, and let all your upper body join in until you start to smile. That's it, you need to keep yourself cheery. If ligaments, tendons, joints or nails are damaged you may find yourself prone to bad moods, anger, frustration and depression, but rest assured it will pass along with the illness. But I know you, Linedancer, you love your work (like myself) and it must be killing you to be off sick, but off sick you will have to stay. I can't be having my head prefect going around limping and shouting at everyone. No, stay under the covers until you are quite well, Linedancer. You know what it says on the sign hanging outside Doc Leaf's Surgery.... ..."Gnature Cures While u Wait". You will have to master the ancient art of waiting, and knit some little scarves for your pet rocks while you are at it.
All this wood element illness could be because you were born in the forest, but I suspect, by my acute powers of detection that you might have been rambling around in the Wandmakers' Forest once too often, visiting that Wanderella Windmeddler, and tripped up on a twig. Well, if you have, it is all coming home to roost now, and I hope it makes you realise how much safer it is up in the Rocky Headlands here with me.
Now, Tom Moffat, you are turning out to be a little star, isn't he, Linedancer? You will be having more than one fish to take back home with you as a prize for all your lovely letters Tom. You will need a little shoal of at least five, because some creatures, like pet rocks, mountain minnows and ourselves, hate to be alone. And yes, it sounds as if that grumpy, naughty pet rock is going to love it at your house when you finally fish him out of the bottom of the tank. I shan't tell him though, or he'll think he's won. If you want to spoil him, all I can say is, you will have to live with him, so it's up to you. By the way, there was another letter about fish and the naughty pet rock. Was that from you too, Tom, or is there someone else called Anonymous writing to me? I would be relieved to solve this mysterious riddle, so would you be so kind as to let me know, Tom, then I can bring my investigation on this matter to a close.
Earlier, I mentioned that there has been a cold snap when the rain came in and drenched the little rockies hatching along my hearth, who, as I predicted when I heard the first drip, drip, drip, have all turned out to be naughty pet rocks, with faces only a mother(such as me, and you, Rubble Clubbers) could love. I already had a group of naughty rockies sulking away unwanted in the naughty corner of the pet rock display in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. I was starting to worry about having too many grumpy faces around the place, but this week a strange miracle has taken place. A kind, jolly holiday-maker came in the shop and made a bee-line for the naughty corner. He whisked up a whole crowd of naughty pet rocks as presents for his friends and family back home. I hope his friends and family are very understanding and if any of them are here at the meeting, a hearty welcome to you, and by way of consolation for those new grumpy little faces in your midst, I can recommend them for their service to deterring unwanted guests, burglars and the like. Deterrence is their best talent, so give them a job in this sector and it will keep them distracted from other attention-seeking behaviours to which they are prone. And keep a lid on fish tanks at all times or they will be in there sulking away and depressing your fish.
Anyway, thanks to that, there is an empty spot in the naughty corner, just in time for the new arrivals. Pet rocks move in mysterious ways, don't they, Rubblers? I wonder who will be taking this new batch off our hands? It could be you.
The sky is now darkening outside, the wind is howling and the flags outside the fancy dress shop across the road are fluttering wildly. Rubble Clubbers, on days like this please turn your pet rocks' faces away from the window, like mine are, and sing them a little song to drown out the sound of the wind. It's looking like there will be no trips around the Blackpol Illuminations for tonight's party of little rockies, who are already perched inside my Illuminations Tour Basket with their umbrellas, waiting for the off. Oh, they have heard me saying that and are looking dazed and miserable. Well, all right then, but it will have to be very quick! And no umbrellas! And you will all have to have a hot bath when we get back.(More work for Granny Gray, the shop-keeping martyr whom I have trained well in the ancient practise of pet rock grooming. I expect I will be too exhausted to do it myself, as usual.)
I will have to leave you now, because I have to chivvy that husband of mine, Malcolm Dumpling (who is asleep over there in the corner in his pet rocking chair) to mend the Stone Quarry roof before the next downpour. I daresay he will protest because of the wind. Well, never mind the wind, someone has to do it and I am too busy dutifully singing to the little rockies (and so, I hope, are you).
Autumn is the time for inventing indoor games of all kinds for the amusement of housebound pet rocks. Musical chairs might seem a good choice, but pet rocks are not in the least competitive and musical chairs is designed to upset someone every time the music stops. Pet rocks would rather stand still for ever than risk upsetting anyone else by grabbing the last chair. Try it for yourself, if you don't believe me and think musical chairs is great fun, but you'll have to forcibly lift them onto the chairs and be the one to cause the distress. Pass The Parcel is better, with a nice present every time the music stops, and as long as there are enough presents to go round and no one gets left out. The all-time favourite amusement is story-time, with you telling the story in fine detail. They love to remember fine details even if they are a complete fiction and make no sense. I leave it with you, Rubblers. Make up a new story every night and your pet rocks will be very very happy.
Despite all my prodding Malcolm is refusing to wake up, so I shall have to leave you while I go and get a bucket of water. I shall be here again next week and until then I remain your constantly dutiful chairman and damp little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 3rd October 2008

2008-10-03T12:01:00.002+01:00

Hello to all pet rock lovers worldwide, and welcome to the Rubble Club on this chilly day. You'll soon warm up. Have a nice cup of gravel tea, here you are. Fish tank gravel has a nice sea-weedy flavour, doesn't it? I think it's my favourite.
Speaking of fish tanks, I have had a delightful little letter from one of my favourite new members, Tom Moffat, who, after my instructions last week, is obediently preparing himself a nice fish tank to entertain his pet rocks. Tom, when you return to Blackpool, Granny Gray has been ordered to fish out a nice shoal of Undergrowby minnows for you to take home in a plastic bag, if you still want them. You can also have the naughty pet rock from the bottom of our tank. He is born to be eternally grumpy, so give him a suitable scaring job, like guarding your fish tank from monsters, or release him on to dry land and promote him to chief security guard beside your front door.
Linedancer, (my head prefect) you have a new junior prefect, Tom Moffat from Scotland. Please be your kindest and make him welcome. Grandad Gray promoted him without referring to me but as it happens, it was an excellent decision. He is as bright as a button and a great asset to the Rubble Club already, isn't he? He writes beautifully and seems to be prepared to go the extra mile for his little rockies, very much like your good trusty self, Linedancer.
Granny and Grandad Gray and all the rockies were pleased to see John, Jacob and Julie, your other junior prefects at the shop, Linedancer. When they come to the shop to shop, there is always a wriggling queue of rockies eager to be chosen by them because their home is a pet rock paradise zone, decked out with all a pet rock could wish for. The pet rocks know it and so do I.
I am somewhat exhausted and bleary-eyed this week. It's not like me, and I am sure you are all anxious to know why. Well you see, I'm a morning-working person. Morning is my best and most energetic time of day and that's when I like to be out and about gathering rock samples and exploring the lovely Blackpool buildings, meeting charming people on the seafront and in shops and hotels. I spend a lot of time listening in to the chatter of the numerous wandering crowds of Blackpool pigeons who are about my size and seem to know all the local gossip, what's on in Blackpool, etc. That's because they hang around outside the tourist information centre across from Blackpool Tower and listen to those lovely tourist informers,( Rubble Club members themselves,) telling the tourists where to go and what's worth seeing today, every day. What those pigeons don't know is not worth knowing. I take my notebook down to the pigeons and in exchange for a few crumbled rock cakes, they tell me all I need to know.
My mornings and afternoons are filled to the brim with all this work. You'd think that would be enough work for one Quarrymistress but now, during the Blackpool Illuminations season, the rockies expect me to take them out, a basketful at a time, every night, to view the lights. It has become their right, or so they seem to believe, now they have come to live in Blackpool. So, instead of falling asleep by the fire, as I like to do once the new pet rocks have hatched along my hearth, I have to get my coat on and tramp along the promenade with my open basket full of gleeful rockies till I am fit to drop. That is, of course, unless it is raining. They would not thank me for a drenching. Every night I find myself selfishly praying for rain, and that is not like me, is it, being selfish?
A couple of days ago the pigeons(with a knowing wink) recommended I visit a particular cocktail bar, so, curious to find out why, I did. There was a party going on. It was someone's birthday, and it was a good job I popped in because although there were lots of nice presents, no one had thought to buy the young gentleman a birthday pet rock. How remiss of his friends and family! Luckily for them I was there to save the day, although no one thanked me when I clambered to the top of the pile of presents and placed a cute yellow rock in pride of place at the top. You'd think I was invisible! Anyway, ever quick to spot the small details in any situation, I found myself drawn with great interest to their cocktail glasses, into which someone had placed some tiny umbrellas. These umbrellas were obviously originally made for pet rocks, and lost their way in the post somehow, ending up abandoned in this cocktail bar. I cannot imagine why thesse people thought their drinks needed to be sheltered from the rain. Can't they see it's too late, drinks are already wet through and there is not a pet rock in sight.
So, as I seemed to be the only sensible one at the party, whenever anyone put down their glass, I snatched the umbrellas, folded them up and collected them under my arm. I have( you will be pleased to hear) returned them to their proper use, sheltering all the little rockies in my basket and yours from the sun and rain. I am now a regular visitor at that cocktail bar, frequented by dim, pet rockless people, where there seems to be an endless supply of pet rock umbrellas. As if I did not have enough work to do!
So, Rubble Clubbers, if you want an umbrella for your pet rock, just ask Granny Gray, my shopkeeper at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. It's a free service, one umbrella for every pet rock you buy. You will need to be brave enough to ask, however, because her memory is not what it used to be. For your pet rocks' sake, speak up and remind her if she forgets to include one in the packaging. If you get yourself some of that sticky blue putty, you can secure them to the side of the pet rock nicely, whenever the weather dictates. There are lots of different colours. Don't let Granny Gray fob you off with a dowdy grey one, (like herself). Ask to see the full range.
Right, Rubblers, and darling little rockies, while you mingle with each other and hold the fort here at the Stone Quarry, I will catch up with some sleep. I'll just be over there in the corner on my pet rocking chair. Next week I'll be here, devotedly chairing the meeting again, answering all your queries and sharing with you my pet rock pearls of wisdom. Till then I remain your tired, cold little friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 26th September 2008

2008-09-26T10:07:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers and hello to pet rocks everywhere. This is Madge Dumpling, Rubble Club Chairman, world-famous pet rock whisperer and baker of the best rock cakes in Undergrowby (help yourselves from the buffet over there on that rocky ledge behind the rubbish bin). I am speaking to you today on my magic laptop from a shady corner of the seafront rockery, Lower Promenade, Blackpool, on a mild, balmy day at summer's end. Cheerful-looking humans,(Rubble club members?) are wandering past me as if I were invisible. I am waving my Rubble Club flag at them all, but they are so busy gazing at the sea and eating bags of chips they fail to notice me and my delicious buffet. Like me, they are still dressed in their summer best.
Summer, as I have already explained to you, is the season of the fire element, and a pet rock's favourite time of year, and as it draws to a close there is always a sense of loss in the air here at the rockery. There is a short while at the change of every season when life's forces take as dip down to earth to rest before transforming into the new force of nature which is the new incoming season. This period of change belongs to the earth element itself, the very element to which pet rocks (and myself... and all earth mothers and fathers of the animal kingdom...) belong.
Like the body of the earth, this period is dark and still and motionless, and we pray that it does not rain because dampness is the enemy of the earth element, and causes worry and overthinking in pet rocks. Luckily, as I said earlier, it is a dry, warm day and all is well. The rockies are taking the loss of summer in their stride, as they can always be relied upon to do, and we are making merry plans for what is to come once summer has disappeared altogether.
Autumn activity always comes in two phases in Undergrowby. The first is the gathering-in of gifts and the second is the sharing out of gifts. Autumn is the season of the heavenly metal element, which entails a lot of exchanging, seeding, fence-mending, shelter-building, cocoon making, deep breathing and skin care. Well, we have to create a full programme of events to take our pet rocks' minds off the loss of summer, don't we Rubblers? It's our job to distract them in these troubling times by keeping them busy with their correct seasonal activities.
As we are still in the earth element seasonal gap, we have to think earthily in our pet rock care. How do we think earthily? We consider the dense, heavy substance of the earth itself and, with our mind and breath concentrated in the lower half of our body, think ourselves heavy and safe, immovable and strong like a mountain. Then, when we give our pets a little hug or a comforting back rub, we impart through our fingertips that lumpy feeling of solid secure safety that we have magically become through thinking ourselves so. Every pet rock owner needs to practise this earth element enhancing exercise if they are to be any use at all during pet rock panic attacks, and to help bridge the gap between the seasons.
I have to report that the fish tank in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, is now swarming with all those little baby fish which I helped to hatch last week. When they grow up they are going to be very overcrowded so, Rubble Clubbers, get yourselves a fish tank right away and set it all up with plants and Granny Gray's magical Undergrowby fish tank ornaments and perhaps a little statue of myself, holding my nose. Then you can come along to the shop and collect a free gift of a bag full of my baby fish to swim around and entertain your pet rocks. It will be the ideal Christmas present for them. There is always a huge crowd of pet rocks sitting around, peering into the tank on the shop counter. They love it almost as much as my singing.
That naughty pet rock who plunged into the tank last week in an attention-seeking tantrum is still underwater, scowling at the front of the tank but flatly refuses to come out now. (He is getting too much attention). He slips through Granny Gray's fingers whenever she tries to grab him and return him to dry land. Well, what can one expect? Due, no doubt, to the relentless rainstorm and flooding of the Stone Quarry on the night of his birth, he was born to be naughty and live in the Naughty Corner of the pet rockery(or in his case, now, in the fish tank). Luckily, the fish are wise enough to ignore him, which is the best way to treat naughtiness, as I am sure you will agree, Rubblers? If he thinks he can escape being in the naughty corner, he is wrong. I have ordered Granny Gray to lower a new Naughty Corner signpost into the tank next to where he is sitting.
Many congratulations to my trusty assistant, Linedancer on her well-earned promotion to head prefect. She is now in charge of a team of prefects including John, Jacob and Julie, who are about to be presented with their prefects' badges. No, J, J and J, I have not forgotten. These things take time, and I have to conduct my security checks, don't I?
And now, Rubblers, I am signing off to get on with my breathing exercises as I expect you will be doing too, after what you now know. Till next week I remain your magical little friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 19th September 2008

2008-09-19T10:33:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers. Hello little rockies, this is Madge Dumpling here talking to you from the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby where the world's most devoted pet rock fanciers meet every Friday, learn from my endless store of pet rock keeping wisdom and partake of my rockelicious buffet. Those of you who have only come for the rock cakes, help yourselves! This week the rock cakes are enriched with something rather special....fish tank gravel.
Granny Gray, on my instructions, has set up an illuminated fish tank on the counter of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, to entertain our vast collecton of pet rocks, who are positioned directly opposite to it. I got the idea because I see these brightly-lit fish tanks wherever I go, and often thought how much the pet rocks would love one to amuse them. There is one across the road in the delightful Italian Kitchen, and THREE in the bar lounge of the cosy Belvedere hotel on the Promenade at Gynn Square, where I go to relax and watch the sun go down from the sun lounge windowsill after a busy day. I instructed Granny Gray to get me and the rockies some tiny gnome-sized fish to entertain us. Granny Gray wrote a list of requirements to my exact specifications and sent Grandad Gray off on his bike and trailer(for the tank, gravel, plants, fish and of course me and my most well-behaved pet rocks) to find it all.
I so much like to watch the fish through the side of the tank that I have become quite fixated with it, so much so that it has been getting in the way of my work. Who knows how many rock specimens will have been washed ashore only to be washed right back out again because I have not been there to catch them. The lesson in this for you, Rubble Clubbers, is this...do not get yourselves a fish tank. Fish tanks and pet rock handling do not go hand in hand well unless you have no interest in the fish at all, and are keeping the tank purely for the entertainment of your rockies while you are out at work, or school, or wherever. It took a nasty, shocking turn of events to teach me that this was the case, and I daresay you will want to hear all about it.
Well, the fish had no sooner arrived in the tank than they started to get romantic with each other and lay their eggs all over the plants. You know me, Rubble Clubbers, ever the mother hen and hatching enthusiast, I decided it was up to me to watch over the eggs since the fish were taking no notice of them at all. I lit a bonfire by the tank, sang my hatching song and clapped the Dumpling rhythm for them for two whole days before they could resist no more and decided to hatch out. It was a spectacular success for the Dumpling magic because about forty of them hatched and attached themselves to the tank wall next to my bonfire. If they could have jumped into my arms, they would have done, I knew. I pretended to stroke them through the glass, but I think it only made matters worse. They stared at me in horror as if I were an alien, which indeed, to them, I was. It was heart-breaking to see them, abandoned by their callous parents, their eyes all goggly and expressionless, unlike the my pet rocks , who are mostly born with love and happiness in their eyes.
A day later, thanks to my devotion, they started to swim freely at the top of the water. I got my longest ladder, climbed to the top of the tank, lifted the cover and sang to them to cheer them on. Meanwhile, the pet rocks were being ignored and neglected and (all credit to them, most of them took it in their stride), accepted their shabby plight and determined to think positively as ever. It's their nature, after all. Most of them, in fact, were greatly entertained by the fishes' antics. One of the Grumpy pet rocks, born in a rainstorm several weeks ago and still not adopted by anyone,(shame on you, Rubble Clubbers!) in a fit of jealousy and depression threw himself up in the air and plopped down into the tank, suicidal as can be. He is still there at the bottom of the tank, scowling at everyone who stops to admire the shoal of baby fish. If he thinks I am going to swim down and rescue him he is wrong!
Still, it did tweak my conscience and bring me to my senses somewhat, and reminded me that I am the Quarrymistress and not the Fishwoman of Undergrowby, and I have work to do. I have therefore left Granny Gray in charge of the baby fish from now on. They might be orphaned and abandoned by their parents but they should count themselves lucky. At least they have Granny Gray, and I shall be keeping a sharp eye on her performance, as always. And let's face it, if it were not for my Dumpling hatching expertise they might never even have been born. Not many would have known exactly what to do, like me.
For those of you who might be wondering how I went on at the Winter Gardens last week, I will give a short report. The King did not show up. Not even a princess. The palace was rather lovely but I could find no gardens, not even a pebble, a worm or a twig. There were no rock specimen stalls to be found but the buffet was lovely. There were cakes topped with a kind of foam, which I suspect may have been gathered from the sea scum that drifts in with the tide. (An inspired idea, which I have stolen to adorn today's batch of fish tank gravel-enriched rock cakes. Enjoy!) There were lots of people milling around in there, but they were so busy looking in vain for the king, like myself, that hardly anyone adopted any pet rocks. So perhaps it was a misguided adventure, not to be repeated. I have instructed Granny Gray to stay put in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road in future, and stop trying to rise above her station.
With that, I will be on with my backlog of work. I will try not to be distracted in future. Till next week, I remain your devoted chairman and growing-ever-wiser little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 12th September 2008

2008-09-12T10:54:00.002+01:00

Hello and welcome to all you lovely pet rock fanciers and your little rubbly friends. Your numbers are growing all the time, which is lucky for all those pet rock orphans waiting to be housed. Another one went out yesterday to a delightful lady from Preston, who, according to Granny Gray, has all the fun-loving qualities I could wish for in a pet rock owner. She used to be a magic wand collector, but now she has her first pet rock, we all know what will happen now, don't we, Rubblers? There has to be a limit to how many magic wands anyone could use, but just think of all that windowsill space in every house in Preston. How many pet rocks do you think we could fit along them? Correct! Hundreds, (as I am sure all you other pet rock owners with windowsills have already discovered). I like to think Wanderella Windmeddler's magic wand trading loss will soon be my gain.
I would like to congratulate my head prefect, Linedancer, for remaining busy and vigilant yet again, keeping an eye on Grandad Gray's activities. It's good to know you are wandering around out there in cyberspace, Linedancer, keeping things in order and wearing your prefect's badge with pride. I am making you a new improved badge for all your efforts. A round of applause for Linedancer, Rubblers!
Now, speaking of wandering around, I have been doing a bit of wandering around myself this week. I noticed great crowds of humans thronging around, all heading towards the centre of town, just behind Blackpool Tower, so I followed along, wondering what was going on. They all disappeared into the entrance of a tunnel, rather like one of the Undergrowby tunnels, only much bigger. Inside the tunnel were lots of new shops, gigantic shops with magic staircases and loud music played by an invisible band. It was all very exciting. I was hoping to find a nice new gravel tea room or a rock specimen shop but I was disappointed. It was , as I overheard, a new shopping centre in a tunnel, nothing more exciting than that. It's nice, however, to see you humans are taking to tunnelling and underground living, but perhaps it could have been a little further underground next time. It was, after all only about two inches deep. You aren't going to unearth many nice specimens at that depth, are you?
On my way back to the Rocky Headlands I passed by a beautiful palace where the King of Blackpool no doubt lives. He called it the Winter Gardens. The gardens must, I decided, be to the rear, because there was no sign of vegetation out front. As the doors were wide open, I popped in to see whether there were any nice rock specimens planted there. I noticed that, amongst a few indoor plants(a bit of an excuse for a garden if you ask me) the king was having a garden party inside his palace, in a grand room called The Olympia,(why?) with all kinds of interesting stalls and a buffet counter. The whole world was invited, or so it appeared. Apparently he has these garden parties every Wednesday and Saturday and he calls them Fleamarkets. Amongst the flea stalls there were so many other things I couldn't even find the fleas. It gave me an idea.
Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, has a bit of time on her hands, it seems to me. I am going to insist that she takes a few bits and bobs of pet rockery along to the Winter Gardens to join the king's stallholders at the Fleamarket. The king himself might become a member of the Rubble Club, when he falls in love with his first pet rock, as he surely must. Just think how pampered his pet rocks will be! The more I think about it, the more determined I become that it must come to pass. So, Rubble Clubbers, watch out for Granny Gray this Saturday and Wednesday at the Winter Gardens. I might even be there myself, supervising her. If you can't make it, never mind, I'll let you know what happens. Since there is a nice buffet kitchen/dining room there, and tables and chairs, where we can all have tea and buns, according to the ancient Rubble Club tradition. It won't be to my own excellent standard, but we can always pretend, can't we?
Perhaps I should make you all some badges so you can spot each other carrying your bags full of new pet rocks, sitting at the tables imagining you are in my parlour in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. If you ask Granny Gray she will tell you which table the Rubble Club members will be sitting at.
I have to go and choose which rocks will be going to the palace. Be quick and eat up your rock buns and drink up your teas, Rubble Clubbers. We'll be closing early this week. Until I return with a full news update next Friday, I shall remain your constant friend and busy little chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 5th Sept. 2008

2008-09-04T19:28:00.003+01:00

Hello, come on in, Rubble Clubbers, I, Madge Dumpling, your friendly chairman am still here. I was planning to host the meeting by remote control this week, from somewhere secret and unknown, but it is raining and you know how I and the pet rocks hate the rain, so you can relax and enjoy another week of my personal hospitality. My usual lovely spread of rock buns and tasty gravel tea is on the table. I know how to look after my visitors, unlike that old green-faced copycat, Wanderella Windmeddler, who tries to compete with me with her magic making , but try though she may, she can't cook for toffee. If you fall into her web don't expect edible food. No wonder she is as skinny as a twig.
It has come to my attention (thanks to my admirable and ever vigilant prefect, Linedancer), that she has badgered her boyfriend, Wobbin the Wizard, into making her a laptop of her own. She is now entertaining all the world-wide wand collectors out here in cyber space. I sneaked a peek at her cosy web set-up just to check it out. I stood silently at the back of the crowd (after all, I have a few magic wands myself, so I could be considered something of a collector) but as there was no buffet, I sneaked back out again, smirking to myself. Linedancer, I will not be jealous if you visit both of our houses, as long as you keep me informed about all the gossip in your usual highly efficient way. I won't ask you to steal any of her awful recipes for me. You can only hope she never attempts to cook for her membership, that's all I can say by way of friendly discreet advice. When visiting the Magic Wand Factory, always go armed with a packed lunch, Rubblers. Take a few extra rock buns from my buffet. I'll find you all nice Rubble Club yellow doggy bag. Just be sure to unpack them slowly and eat them in front of her.
Talking about doggy bags, I have had an interesting question from Doglover. Are there dogs in Undergrowby? Of course! But they are the exactly the same dogs that you know, which we meet when our paths cross with the human world. There are no tiny gnome-dogs, except in fairy tales, just big, clumsy-footed giant dogs, pets of humans and some of them are a bit too interested in us little Growbies. Guess what the most popular pet in Undergrowby is? Correct, pet rocks. Growbies sometimes form attachments with magical creepy-crawlies, like caterpillars, worms, crabs, shrimps and spiders, but would not dream of putting them on leads or trap them in cages. They come and go as they will. I have a nice worm family under the rubble pile of whom I am quite fond, but they are not half so affectionate, intelligent and reliable as my little rockies.
It has been quite a pet-related week amongst my human friends. I went into the Belvedere Hotel on Gynn Square to check up on my pet rock department in their bijou little phone booth gift shop. There sat my rockies, smiling at me from their shelf. It quite made their day to see me, I could tell. Then I went for a wander round, as I do. In the bar I noticed they had some lovely bubbling fish tanks for the entertainment of their lucky, happy, entranced visitors. It gave me an idea.
I talked Grandad Gray into getting a little fish tank for in the Magic Wand Factory Shop so I could put my idea into practice. Since it arrived, I have been training a team of water-loving pet rocks to hold their breath as long as possible. None of them has taken a breath since. They sit there obediently holding their breath effortlessly and smiling as usual. Today I put them into the new fish tank, which has no fish as yet, just nice warm water and some mosses and they look quite happy. Once a week I shall remove them so they can take a breath if they need to. In my experience, pet rock underwater dwellers, once they are acclimatised, can survive for years without taking a breath. Can you guess one great advantage to this lifestyle, Rubble Clubbers? Yes, correct, blissfully for them, they will never know when it is raining outside. Therefore they should never suffer from that much-feared crippling pet rock disease, rain-related depression.
Well, I am still exhausted after my marathon fire element lecture of last week, and so, I imagine, are you, so I shall be brief this week. To help us all relax our tired minds, there are some spectacular free firework display weekends here in Blackpool this week and in the weeks to come, (check with my friends at the Tourist Information Centre) so if you are looking for somewhere to take your pet rocks for a special treat, book your pet rocks and yourself in at one of those lovely Blackpool hotels. It will be a fabulous fiery time to remember for you all. While you are here, pop into the pet rock department of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road near Gynn Square and stock up on new specimens. Also, watch out for me and my rockies in their little pram, strolling along the promenade under the popping rockets and shooting stars. If I do not see you there, I will see you next Friday here in my parlour where, as ever, I will remain your dependable little friend and faithful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 29th August 2008

2008-08-29T09:37:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling speaking. Welcome to the ever-changing (but ever present) hidden land of Undergrowby. If you are one of the Growbies, (Undergrowby gnomes) sitting in my parlour waiting for the buffet to be served, you may be wondering where I am. Well, thanks to my magic laptop, I can run the meeting from afar, and if I wanted, I could even be on my holidays and still chair the meeting. As it happens I am sitting experimentally in the back yard under my umbrella in case it rains, and I will be in shortly, but the scientist in me is content that my experiment has worked. Next week, who knows where I'll be?
Here I am back again just in time to get the rock cakes out of the oven. Oh good, you have already grouped all your rockies together in a circle to meet each other, just the way I do. You are learning fast, Rubble Clubbers. This meeting is beginning to run itself, which is just as well, because I can't live for ever and someone amongst you has to keep up the old Stone Quarry traditions whem I'm gone. Learning the Dumpling Magic might take a while, so I am hoping to spot an apprentice amongst you shortly, to pick up seamlessly where I leave off. One day YOU may become the Quarrymistress of Undergrowby and chairman of the Rubble Club. But not yet.
I am still alive.
This week there have been dark clouds and rain on and off, which are very rare here in sunny Blackpool. The rain completely spoilt my plans for Bank Holiday Monday night, when I was supposed to be joining the promenade cycle ride. My own bike is too small (3 inches tall) to mingle with the humans, so I wheedled my way round Grandad Gray to fix me and the pet rocks up with alternative transport in the form of a new bike trailer attached to his bike. We were going to travel in style down the promenade, waving at the crowds, but as you know, pet rocks hate the rain so I had to forgo the trip. He accused us of being a wimp and threatened to take his giant poodle instead. The intelligent poodle also refused to go, because, like pet rocks, they hate the rain too, so the shiny new bike trailer emblazened with adverts for the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road still stands unused in the garage. If you ever see him out and about on it in Blackpool, watch out for me, the pet rocks and the poodle in the trailer. If you shout "Yoo hoo, Madge!" I'll get Grandad Gray to stop while I give you a pet rock for your trouble.
Now, I promised you a lecture on the Fire Element before summer is over. If you are sitting comfortably I will begin.
Pet rocks belong not to the fire element but to the earth element. Once you know what element of nature something belongs to, you can understand its natural needs, its natural gifts and its natural enemies, so you can take care of it intelligently. An earth element creature like a pet rock needs fire. On the five-elements chart fire is the mother and creator of earth. When a fire dies down, anyone can see that magically and quite naturally, a new mound of earth(ash) is left behind. The bigger the fire, the bigger the mound of earth it can produce.
In the middle of the earth on which we live there is, as we know, a ball of fire which created a rocky, earthen surface cool enough for us to live on. Fire is the mother of all those rocks; all that earth.
The pattern of fire(and therefore a pet rocks' favourite pattern) is a triangle pointing to heaven. Sometimes many triangles will cling together and the points radiate around outwards in a circle, like the sun and the stars. They are always trying to move outwards to the sky, catching on to things as they go, spreading like a net, or an infectious disease(which is considered to be a fire element illness in Undergrowby).
When a volcano erupts its fire races up and out towards the sky then showers down its contents to create new fertile soil and rock formatons. Its lava spreads like a net over everything, burning away the past and creating a clean, crisp, sterile new beginning on which life forms settle. Millions of pet rocks begin life this way, complete with smiley faces, ejected directly from the heart of the earth. With the first rainfall and cold snap their faces are no longer smiley, because water and cold is the enemy of earth. Water is often used to extinguish fires for this very reason. Pet rocks hate the rain, as I tell you again and again. Warm baths are acceptable, and in a heatwave, a plunge in a saucer of water is always fun, but relentless rain .......NO!
By the time a volcano has cooled down, the pet rocks' faces have completely disappeared, hidden from view till I find them somewhere, washed up by the tides of the future, or unearthed by diggers, and place them on my hearth where the raging fire and my fiery Dumpling magic chant fills them with a renewed sense of their twinkly fiery history. We Growbies are taught that the fire element in our bodies dwells inside our heart, mind, consciousness and memory. Its radiance, or lack of it, is manifested in our facial expression. The smilier someone looks, the happier they are, and the more fire they are spreading. Fun and laughter spreads like wildfire, and like the aforementioned infectious diseases, so in the middle of a rainstorm, it's good to tell a few jokes to your pet rocks to stoke up the fire and create an antidote to the droopy, scary water element fears from which your pet rock may be suffering.
So, Rubblers, when catering for your pet rocks, remember the fire element and its nature, and provide it in all its ways for your little pets, and for the earth element part of you rown nature, which dwells not in the heart, but in the stomach, spleen, pancreas, muscles and flesh. All these parts of you will love fire element things, which are heat, light,happiness, sunshine, hot food, the colour red, dryness, the south, showing off, laughter, talking, fantasy, imagination, love, romance, clinging, nets, entertainment, merriment, bonfires, smoke, the smell of burning, magic tricks and crispy crunchy spicy food(like my rock cakes).
If you have gone to sleep with the hypnotic sound of my voice going on and on about the fire element(one of my favourite subjects), I daresay you will be having vivid dreams because that's the kind of sleep the fire element produces. It's the fire in your heart and mind showering itself upon your consciousness in that crazy way only dreams can do.
No wonder the pet rocks are only coaxed back to life by my fire, on my cosy happy hearth with me in a jolly world of my own, singing the Dumpling magic chant, is it? Now it is all making perfect sense to you, isn't it, Rubblers?
Wobbin the Wizard, who made me my magic laptop, has just arrived at the meeting. I have asked him along to get himself on my laptop and create a chat room in cyber space for you all, Rubblers, so you can meet each other and exchange pet rock gossip. I will let you know how we get on. Visit the Undergrowby web site if you can't wait till next week, and need to know sooner. Unless I meet you before in cyber space, I remain for ever your faithful friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 22 August 2008

2008-08-22T09:24:00.002+01:00

Hello, you have clicked the correct buttons, Rubble Clubbers, and landed yourselves back in my parlour for another jolly meeting. Hello, little rockies, perch yourselves along there next to my newborns so you can see my familiar old face and read what's going on here in Undergrowby(the land where you too were born). Thank you for bringing them, Rubblers. I'm glad to see you are taking responsible pet rock ownership seriously. They all like to return to the mountain from which they are chip from time to time, and without you bringing them to the Rubble Club every Friday, their history would be nothing but a memory.
History is, after all, a pet rock's speciality subject. They love to remember and absorb absolutely everything they hear, see, feel and do. Ask them to memorise the words to a song and they will. Ask them to memorise a film script and they will. They would be fine actors and singers if only they had an audible voice. We alone, Rubble Clubbers, can listen to their silent voices and understand their needs. That's because you love them, you are thinking, in your modest way. Well, let me tell you, Rubble Clubbers, you are a little bit magical and sensitive too, or you would never have been chosen by them that day at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. Pet rocks are very stubborn and will not go home with just anyone. Rest assured, you are gifted.
It's just as well the rest of the world can't hear their voices as well as us, because there would be no need for all those encyclopaedias and filing cabinets out there. The pet rocks would be happy to remember and recite back all our information for us about everything since time began, and they would be used as slaves everywhere. And what a waste of their fine minds that would be. No, they're better off with us, Rubble Clubbers, bringing their calm, gentle, lucky life force into the midst of friends like us who adore them and are eager to understand their stony-silent touchy-feely language. Bridging the gap between rock and human is your own peculiar calling, and if you keep coming to the Rubble Club and following my guidance, you can achieve it.
Help yourselves to the rock cakes and gravel tea while I shuffle around and ask my pet rocks to remind me what the business of the day is. Ah yes, thank you. Volcanos. If you remember, last week I was having a shortage of raw materials for the pet rocks and considering ways of charming up a volcano here in Blackpool to throw up a new mountain for me, but I have thought better of it since then. I have become quite fond of the place exactly as it is, and although the Rocky Headlands (or so I call it) is somewhat artificial as rocks go, I would miss it if it went up in the air with a bang. Anyway, as it happens, the specimens have returned to the seashore so I have abandoned planning for a volcano after all, much to my rockies' disappointment. They love a nice raging fire, as we all know, so as a consolation prize, I have made some little mini volcano incense cone burners with a secret hidey hole inside, so they can play at being smoking volcanos whenever I decide it is a good idea. I never let them loose with fire-making equipment when I am absent, but as long as I am there to watch and light the cones for them, my parlour will remain intact. If you want one of my volcanos for your own little rockies, you can buy one of my fireproof, Rubble Club recommended stoneware creations from the Magic Wand Factory Shop.
I was planning to go in depth with a long rambling lecture on the history of the fire element in Undergrowby today but time has beaten me, so it wll have to wait till next week. I have to thank Anonymous for a lovely cheery letter, and Grandad Gray for wiping off his own nonesensical gobbledygook which he wrote just to check if his computer was working correctly. Linedancer, my trusty prefect, alerted Granny Gray to the 'item removed' from my mailbag which drew my attention to it. Now we have all got to the bottom of it and a confession has been extracted from Grandad Gray. We will not be having any items of correspondance removed ever again, I hope. Thank you, Linedancer. Where would I be without you?
I expect you are all looking forward to your lecture on the fire element in Undergrowby, well so am I, so be sure to return for it. If no one arrives, I will just talk to myself and the rockies. Till then, I remain your reliable friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 15th August 2008

2008-08-15T10:12:00.002+01:00

Hello Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling here welcoming you and your pet rocks to my tiny underground parlour for another little get-together in the interests of pet rock welfare and pet rocking in general. As usual I can endeavour to keep you up to date on all matters every owner needs to know about the cute little darlings.
For some unfathomable reason I am having difficulty finding many suitable specimens of rock this week as I tunnel my way around Undergrowby below ground and above ground here in Blackpool. Perhaps the vast numbers of visitors have beaten me to them. Something strange is going on and I don't know what it is. At this rate the pet rock birth rate will be at an all-time low this month. I stand at the water's edge waiting for the tide to wash in a new batch for me but sadly, there is nothing. I am thinking of catching an ancient magic tram to the distant land of Fleetwood if only I could jump high enough to mount one. Rubble Clubbers, if you see me with my ladder at your tram stop you will now know what my plan is, and you might be kind enough to delay the tram driver (show him your pet rocks and strike up a conversation about them) long enough for me to get up my ladder unnoticed. I understand, from converations I hear along the promenade, that you can get anything you want in Fleetwood at the biggest market anyone has ever seen. Perhaps, I am thinking, they might sell bags of pebbles there, some of which might turn out to be pet rock seeds for my own world-famous top secret magical purposes. Meanwhile, I shall tunnel my way around, ever the optimist, hoping for a change in my fortunes.
As it happens it is just as well that things have been a bit slack this week because my mailbag has been full to overflowing and I have read my letters again and again, a tear in my eye with gratitude for all your kind thoughts, Rubblers. I even had a nice chatty email from a Rubble Clubber called Cliff ( I can't decide whether it is Cliff, my No 2 prefect, human friend of Linedancer who is my trusty No.1 prefect, or Cliff, Linedancer's new pet rock typing away to me on its shiny new pet rock laptop). Linedancer, if you are listening, perhaps you need to rename your pet rock Little Cliff, then we know who's who?
My new adorable friends round at the Blackpool Tourist Information Centre have overwhelmed me with their efficiency and kindness this week. Not only have they been handing out my leaflets guiding lots of lovely visitors round to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, they have worked out how to press the comments button at the bottom of my page, and written me a delightful appreciative letter about my work. There was a knock on my door one day this week and when I got there no one was there, but there was a big parcel with presents in it for me from someone(and I suspect it was the Tourist Informers). As a result, my parlour is now strewn with enchanted fairy lanterns, I have a new tin for my pet rock food and I have a new silky embroidered sleeping bag for my bed cupboard. I took one look at it and threw out my lumpy old thistledown cocoon like a shot. So this is how Blackpool gnomes can be expected to live! I feel like a fairy queen, not just a Quarrymistress. And I know what you are thinking, Rubble Clubbers, yes I am truly a kind of royalty in my own right, and I deserve to be treated like a little queen, don't I? After the meeting has finished I am thinking of making some new prefects' badges for them. For their thoughtfulness and open-hearted good-natured Blackpooliness they must be promoted as soon as possible.
I have tried a new recipe for the rock cakes this week, Rubblers. I hope you like them. They are Blackpool Rock flavour. Guess what the secret ingredient is! I heard they were handing out free rock at the library, so I made a pilgrimage there(what with the rock shortage and all) and found it was not real rock at all, it was that strange minty pink Blackpool rock, made from sugar, which I know you humans seem to love. I pounded them into bits with a big stone and threw them into the baking mix. Go on, eat them all up. I expect you were wondering when I was going to get round to the buffet, weren't you? You must be starving, having to listen to all my news before you have been fed. I am forgetting my manners. Sorry. Peppermint (rock) tea anyone?
I am going to leave you now, Rubble Clubbers with this thought. Volcanos. If we can't find enough rocks around the ground, perhaps it's time we charmed some up from under the ground. If anyone has any ideas how to charm up a volcano, please let me know. I will let you into my invention for it next week, but until then, I remain your true friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 8th August 2008

2008-08-08T10:53:00.003+01:00

Come on in, Rubble Clubbers, you are in the safe hands of Madge Dumpling, your friendly little chairman and pet rock expert. Don't be nervous, it will spoil the party. Help yorself to a rock cake and set up your little rockies next to mine so they can mingle and exchange necessary information. They will not be reporting back to me later with all your scandal, don't worry. Unlike Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, they do not gossip, not even with me, their creator. World champion pet rock whisperer though I may be, they will only tell me about themselves, and nothing about anyone not present. They are the soul of discretion, much like myself. You can, and must, tell them all your secrets. Rest assured, it will go no further.
Granny Gray tells me that my trusty magical prefect, Linedancer, obediently wearing her prefect's badge, brought a friend into the shop several days ago, and, ever the attractor of rock formations as she is, it seems she has attracted another, because according to Granny Gray, his name was Cliff, and like the cliff after which he was aptly named, he adopted a tall new pet rock to add to Linedancer's array of rock formations. I expect she will be calling it Cliff after its kind rock-bearing benefactor.
This week's business has been shelved because I have been too busy collecting dry sticks ready for my winter bonfires. Pet rocks love a bonfire, and summer-gathered sticks are their favourite fuel. They are full of the cheerful fire element, inside and out, and in the dead of winter they make such a happy blaze, the Rubble Club meetings would not be the same without them. In the evenings on hot, stick-collecting days I always sit at the table in my parlour and entertain the rockies by building a few tiny triangular pet rock bonfire stacks. They love a craft demonstration, don't they, Rubble Clubbers? With a flash of my inborn fire-related Dumpling magic, I then amaze the rockies by turning the stacks into stone to make toy smoking bonfires which will never burn away. On dull, overcast and rainy days the rockies need something to take their minds off the weather. That's whenI place some of my magic incense under the stone bonfires and set it alight to smoke. For all the world it is like a pet rock bonfire night, (but without the heat, which would be a terrible nuisance in the summer). If you are visiting Blackpool, Rubble Clubbers, you can obtain one of my toy bonfires at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road. They manifest only in summer, so when they are gone, they are gone.
If you fail to obtain one, the next best thing to cheer them up is to turn all the lights on and sing a loud, fire-related song to them. Pretend you are a bonfire and sing what comes naturally. If you are out on the road with your pet rocks in your pocket and there is a sudden scary downpour, you could switch on a tiny pocket torch for them for reassurance. It's good to get into the habit of remembering, evry time you pick up your umbrella for yourself,(just in case it rains) to pick up a torch for your pet rocks,(just in case it rains). Well, it's your responsibility after all. They give their all to you and so it's not much to ask.
I have made some miniature pet rock cakes (as tiny as a baby's fingernail) this week for you to take home as a special treat. They are exclusive to Rubble Club members and can not be bought, so if you forget to take one home you can ask Granny Gray for one round at the shop. The magic words you have to say are "Tell Madge I forgot my little cake". Then Granny Gray will know you have come from cyber space. She is dying to see a cyber spaceperson (and so am I!), so please make her day and say the magic words. I will be listening under the counter and following you out of the shop through my secret underground tunnel network, plotting my way back to your home. I don't mean to pry, I just want to see what cyber space looks like.
The door has just swung open and that green-faced Wanderella Windmeddler from the Wandmaker's Forest has just flounced in with her basket of pet rocks and dry sticks from the forest. She is always on the look-out for a new apprentice wandmaker, because nobody is ever quite competent enough for her. In the evenings when the shop is closed, she has been trying to train up Granny Gray for the job, but Granny Gray is too busy gossiping to concentrate on the wand-making, so here she is again, seeing who else is here at the Rubble Club. Linedancer, watch out! I have to go and cover up the rock cakes before she starts fiddling with them. I wouldn't care if she ate them but she just messes them all up and makes insulting comments about them. I'll leave you then, Rubblers, to mingle with the membership, and until next Friday I remain your devoted chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 1st August 2008

2008-08-01T10:12:00.002+01:00

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.

Rubble Club Meeting 25th July 2008

2008-07-25T09:58:00.003+01:00

Hello and welcome! This is Madge Dumpling speaking to you from the headquarters of the Rubble Club, my cosy little parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. It has been a very exciting week for me here, just below the surface of sunny Blackpool. Granny Gray, my shopkeeper has been selling my little rockies to lots of lovely kind new owners and the rubble club membership is bursting at the seams. As you are all invisible to me, I can only hope that you are not all trying to cram yourselves into my parlour at this moment. If you are, speak up for yourselves please, because it would be easy for me to find a larger venue. The Belvedere Hotel on Blackpool Promenade has offered me the run of the place if I should ever need it, (but more of their goings-on later, Rubble Clubbers.) If you remain silent, how can I ever know what you and your little pets want? Up to this week, only two of you have ever spoken out loud, via the comments box displayed somewhere on the screen. Now, this week I am delighted to hear from a lovely young lady called Sally, who was bright and intelligent enough to find the comments button and kind enough to use it to speak to me. Granny Gray remembers her quite clearly. She took quite a shine to her and no wonder. She is a world traveller and great sportswoman, unlike myself. I never go whizzing along fast(I might miss something) and I stick to my home ground, once I have decided where that is. Sally can do the world travelling on behalf of the Rubble Club from now on, and the sports medal-winning as well.
Off you go then, Sally, with your lucky world-travelling pet rock, Polley, and your purple magic wand. I'm waving you off with a grief-stricken tear in my eye, hoping you will return to talk to me again once you have conquered the world, and your pet rock along with you. I have only just heard your voice and now I am losing you to your travels. It would be so exciting for the pet rocks and their owners to hear from you from far away, knowing that one of them is out there having dangerous adventures, flying through the sky and cheering at those terrifying sporting events. Oh, do try to find a laptop wherever you are and report back to us once a week. If we hear nothing we will assume you have heartlessly abandoned us to not knowing what became of you. Nevertheless, Sally and Polley, my heart and the heart of the Rubble Club will be with you forever, wishing you great happiness and glorious success.
I now have to report that I have been invited to open another pet rock shop inside an old phonebox inside the Belvedere Hotel on the North Promenade. I have sent that world-famous artist and shopkeeper, Granny Gray, to paint a nice picture of Undergrowby on the wall and a nice young man and soon-to-be member of the Rubble Club, is then going to put some shelves up to display my pet rocks. Granny Gray foolishly told him about all the other Undergrowby pottery products she sells and now he wants more than just my pet rocks in there. Granny Gray will never learn to keep her big mouth shut. It was I who stumbled up the steps to the Belvedere: it was I who befriended the owners and it was I who was offered the phone-box for my own use and now it is going to be cluttered up with all that other stuff. Well, all I can say is if my pet rocks are not on the best shelf, I shall be having words. I have had a wander round the rooms in there and I must say, it is much posher than the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road. I have booked the back corner of the wardrobe in the Belvedere's new platinum suite for my birthday party once it opens. I promised to be very quiet, so if some humans have booked it for the same week, I will be no trouble. I am as invisible to the humans as they are to me anyway, so we won't even know each other are there.
The aforementioned world-famous artist and shopkeeper, Granny Gray, painted my portrait on my new range of pet rock laptops, and she did an appalling job of it. She says I am just being vain when I complain that it looks nothing like me and it is so small, you can only just make me out. Contrary to her notions, it will have to be re-done when she can find the time. Meanwhile, the current portrait will have to suffice, and it will probably be an issue so short-lived(if I have my way) it will become a much sought-after collectors' item. I am gratified, but not surprised to be informed by my trusty prefect, Linedancer that her pet rocks are tingling with anticipation at the promise of getting one, so there you are! Linedancer, for all your efforts you are still the world's number one most devoted pet rock owner. There may be many more out there as good as you but how am I to know? They don't write to me. As long as they remain silent, they will never be getting badges and little treats like you.
The Undergrowby members are piling in now, expecting to be waited upon, so I have to leave my laptop and put my apron on. Until next week then, Rubble Clubbers, as ever,I remain your devoted chairman and friend you can rely on, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 18th July 2008

2008-07-18T11:35:00.002+01:00

Hello and welcome once again to my cosy little parlour, Rubble Clubbers. This is Madge Dumpling speaking, quarry-mistress of the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby, expert pet rock handler and chairman of the Rubble Club. For those of you who are over six inches tall and therefore unable to fit through my doorway, please sit your pet rocks where they can see my magical, familiar face on the computer screen and imagine yourselves enjoying my world-famous rock cakes and gravel tea with the other members and their pet rocks who will be arriving at any moment. I am told that visualising something provides around forty percent of the benefits of actually doing it.( I visualise doing keep fit exercises myself, for that reason.)
Pet rocks are great fans of the familiar, homely things in life. Like chips off the mountain from which they originated, whose caves house all the history books and engravings since time began, they never forget a thing, and of all the faces in the world, (apart from your own) they will certainly remember my face. It was after all the first face they ever saw after they hatched out beside my fire. I am quite adamant that they need a regular glimpse of me and it worries me that some of you do not regularly attend these meetings(except you, Linedancer, my dear prefect and friend, who are almost as exemplary as myself in your dutiful ways).
After a period of creative thinking on the subject, I have ordered some pet rock-sized tiny laptops to be made by the Undergrowby Toolmaker. My little face will be permanently emblazened on the screen, for their reassurance. I will be incorporating some of my own powerful Dumpling magic into each one, so it should have an instantly calming effect upon an entire viewing audience of pet rocks. I wish it to be a bit like the effect a dummy has on a baby. I just hope it does not bring out the competitive streak in a pet rock community as they vie for a front row seat at the laptop. For those of you caring enough to obtain one from the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, I will have to entrust you with the job of devising a rota, and thus circulating its use fairly amongst your pet rocks, because as you will know by now, like their common ancestors, the mountains, they do get stuck in their ways and resist being shifted once they are in position. And really, why should any one of them be the favourite? It can only rock the contented little world of the others, and we don't want that, do we, Rubble Clubbers?
Regular Rubble Club attenders will remember a few weeks ago that there was a pet rock population explosion here in Undergrowby. Well, it was all to the good, and one of life's magical coincidences, because it seems that since then, here in sunny, bright, beautiful Blackpool, droves of people were destined to arrive in cars and coaches for the express purpose of visiting the Magic Wand Factory to adopt every single pet rock they can get their hands on. I wonder how they found out about them? Never mind. It keeps that gossipy, doddery old Granny Gray(who runs the shop for me) from having too much time on her hands to go off sunning herself on the promenade. If there's one thing she likes better than a good old gossip or a sunbathing session, it's wrapping up hundreds of pet rocks with that crackly paper and ribbons that she has stashed behind the counter. Between you and me, I think she's unhealthily addicted to fiddling around with that crackly paper. Sometimes I catch her making balls of tissue paper and wrapping them up in it, tying ribbons round it, and she pretends she's 'just perfecting her art'. But I know she's getting old, and unlike myself, has no real expertise of her own to be proud of, so I say nothing.

The hotels are full of pet rock fanciers, and those bingo sessions, (of which there are hundreds in Blackpool), will soon be making way for international pet rock fanciers conventions, mark my words. If you would like me to inform you of these events as they occur, you only have to ask. I will point you to the best places to stay. I have been noseying around Undergrowby's underground tunnels leading to cellars and back yards of hotels looking for interesting specimens, and you'd be surprised how cosy and homely many of them are. Many of them even have cute little gnome flaps fitted on their back doors. Encouraged by this helpful, welcoming feature, I am becoming quite a knowledgeable hotel inspector. And if their cellars and back yards are cosy and welcoming, imagine what their front entrances, dining rooms and bedrooms are like! Fit for royalty I expect. Well, actually , I know that they are, because being naturally curious and explorative, I do a bit of wandering about once I am indoors. Anyway, I have my favourites and I consider it my duty to pass on my useful expert information to all you hundreds of Rubble Clubbers planning to come to Blackpool in the near future (perhaps to organise one of those conventions, or to bring a coach trip of local branch members to stock up on pet rocks). If you are under six inches tall, you can sleep on the couch in my parlour free of charge, as long as you don't mind the sound of all the pet rocks(and myself) rummaging around in the night. Alternatively, if you are on the tall side, as I suspect many of you are, you will have to ask for my recommendations.
Wherever you stay, if it is one of my recommendations, I will send along a side order of my freshly baked rock cakes to cater for your pet rocks in the way that only I can. It's my job, after all, Rubble Clubbers. Nobody does it better.
Ah, here are the members, arriving for their weekly chat, and pet rock grooming demonstration. I had better get my expert's grooming kit out and entertain them all. I have been making brushes for the members all week, with hairs plucked from an old toothbrush which I found sticking out of a glass in one of those hotels. I have glued a few hairs into the end of pieces of drinking straws I snatched from the patio of the pub down the road. The members like to participate during the demonstration, so I have to be equipped with the finest of tools like the true professional that I am. You will have to excuse me while I get on, Rubble Clubbers. Perhaps you could find an old toothbrush of your own and pretend you are here with us. Meanwhile, till next week I remain your trusty little friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 11th July 2008

2008-07-11T09:29:00.002+01:00

Welcome. Rubble Clubbers! The rock cakes are over there on the table, piping hot and crunchy as can be. Everyone's pet rocks are perched all round the edge of the plate, tucking in already, so be quick if you want a taste. I forgot to introduce myself. I am your hostess, club chairman, pet rock expert, quarrymistress and friend, Madge Dumpling. I am here again, dutifully speaking to pet rock owners worldwide from the invisible parlour of the Stone Quarry Cottage in the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby. When I say invisible, I mean invisible to you, not to me, because you cyber space people and your parlours are invisible to me after all. You may be invisible, but I truly believe you are there, because three of you have actually spoken to me through the magic powers of the cyber kingdom. The other Growbies are insanely jealous of my magic laptop, but even without it, before I have turned it on, I sense the Rubble Clubbers here, waiting eagerly for the meeting to begin. When my rock cakes start to disappear faster than usual, I know they are here with me. Some may say I am in a world of my own and quite deluded, but we hyper-sensitive pet rock whisperers know what's really real and what isn't, don't we, Rubble Clubbers? And,( it goes without saying), so do our pet rocks.
Now, on to business. I would like to draw your attention to a phenomenon which is new, interesting and definitely not a cause for concern. The Blackpool Freckles. Since moving to the sunny, happy holidayland of Blackpool, I have noticed that amongst the pet rocks sitting on the front row along the windowsill, many have been developing a crop of brown spots all over their heads. At first I was worried, thinking it was a deadly fungal disease, but the little darlings are otherwise perfectly healthy and aglow with holidayland happiness, so I have concluded that they have sprouted freckles, and very pretty they are too. If you notice anything similar, perhaps it means you too live in Blackpool. Lucky you! My advice to you is, move the front row to the back, so the others can get a share of the sun, otherwise the freckled ones will gain advantage at the midsummer pet rock shows. They will be so much prettier than the others and there will be no end of jealousy and over-use of fake freckle lotion. For those of you wishing to gain similar advantages for your pet rocks I would recommend a weekend in sunny Blackpool. No matter what the radio weather forescasters say (I hear them telling their whopping fibs on the holidaymakers' radios), it is almost always radiantly sunny here.
You could stay in one of those cosy seafront hotels. Before you book in, inquire if your room will have a sunny windowsill for your team of freckle-hunting pet rock sunbathers. There should be no extra charge. One of my favourite prefects recommends the wonderful President Hotel on the north promenade. You might even meet her and her pet rocks there if your stay and hers coincide. Look for her prefect's badge and linedancer's outfit (secret clues to her identity, known exclusively to members of the Rubble Club). I myself stumbled accidentally into a nice hotel called the New Belvedere, on the promenade at Gynn Square, round the corner from the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road They told me I could stay in their phone box any time I like. It was a lovely cosy spot, and I suspect they have heard about my world-famous rock cakes and are hoping I will be baking up a storm for them whenever I stay. If any of you have other hotels to recommend, you only have to write to me and I will dutifully pass the word on to the membership.
Yesterday a trio of orphans, their beds and bowls left the shop to emigrate to Canada(a foreign town across a big sea) with a very nice, kind family who promised to take great care of them. If you are here at the meeting, little rockies, bon voyage! There will soon be a little corner of a house in Canada which will be forever Undergrowby.
I have to go now, Rubble Clubbers, and get some sun. I am hoping for some massive freckles, so I will be able to enter the Happy Holidaylands beauty contest and beat that wrinkled, green-faced Wanderella Windmeddler, Wandmaker of the Magic Wand Factory of the Wandmaker's Forest of Undergrowby, who won it last year for being 'different'.
I'll be back next week. Till then I remain your faithful friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club Meeting 4th July 2008

2008-07-04T10:00:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers and welcome to this week's gathering of devoted pet rock fanciers worldwide. I am your club chairman confidante and friend, Madge Dumpling. I hope I find you and your rocks in a better mood this week, because I am. The world always takes on a happy face when the sunshine comes pouring in through the cracks in my pile of rubble. It's an all round pet rock battery charger and tonic which you can't get into a bottle, sadly. Still, that's what windowsills are for. I hope you have devised a row of pet rock sunbeds along yours ready for your little pets to sprawl out in the sun after the meeting. A tray of gravel would suffice, but something more luxurious would be better. I am offering a prize for the best sunbed idea. You will find out what the prize will be when you win it, but rest assured, it will be up to my usual standard of excellence, and your pet rocks wil love it.
I would first of all like to thank Linedancer, my trusty prefect, for drawing my attention to my unanswered mail from two weeks ago. That's what I gave you the job for, Linedancer. I knew you were the perfect choice. Efficient, observant, diligent, responsible and reliable. If you were not already my prefect, I'd make you one all over again. Your cakes are wrapped up, ready. no need to rush, their eat-by-date is hundreds of years hence. Rubble does not go off.
Now I have another little correspondent to address, Doglover, and thank you for letting me know you are real. I was beginning to think Linedancer was the only real member I have out there in cyber-space, and it was all a figment of my imagination. I am hurriedly getting another prefect's badge wrapped up. I sense great devotion in your turn of phrase, Doglover, and I'm sure that sandpit is the happiest pet rock paradise on earth. I have great confidence in your kind intentions. Keep up the good work and let me know all your gossip.
And so on to the business of the week which is Naughtiness. During the rainy period last week I had some hatchlings with faces only a mother (like myself) could love. I can spot them a mile off. They were born to be very naughty indeed and should not be placed amongst others of a more innocent nature. It would be cruel. If you could see their dark, grumpy faces, some apparently mid-tantrum, you would agree with me. If you were to contemplate adopting such a specimen, it would be wise to set them upon a job, preferably with a uniform or a badge, a kind of pet rock security guard or burglar deterrent. Place it by the entrance to your home and tell it what its job is. Such creatures thrive on repelling trouble-makers. They are often spookily effective, working their deterrant thoughts through the invisible layers of life. If you adopt several, keep them together in a gang. If they get bored because your house is too peaceful, they can then detract each other from naughty tricks by having competitions about who can look the hardest. If you will consider adopting one of these naughty pet rocks, I will provide you with a free rock cake which will feed him or her for a lifetime. Just scratch some bits from the cake into its bowl and watch its eyes light up. Well, I don't expect you to adopt them, give them a job AND feed them!
If you could hang a sign up on the wall behind them saying 'Naughty Corner' or 'Security' or something of the kind, it would give them a sense of identity to compensate them for the grumpy life they are destined to lead.
Right, we are leaving early today, Rubble Clubbers, to enjoy the sun. I have packed up some rock cakes for you to take back to your windowsills, so your little darlings can have a takeaway lunch for a change. Off you go then. If you are in Blackpool, you might see me out and about strolling along the promenade with a basket of pet rocks, nibbling on a rock cake. If you miss me, (I am easy to miss, being only six inches tall) call in at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road and ask Granny or Grandpa Gray, my shop assistants, for one of my left-overs for your pet rock's picnic. The password to this treat is 'Madge Dumpling's Leftover'. As obviously devoted Rubble Club attenders, you will not be charged.
I will see you all next week then, and meanwhile I remain as ever, your infinitely knowledgeable chairman and nice little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 27th June 2008

2008-06-27T09:02:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is your friend, Madge Dumpling calling once again from the Stone Quarry of the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby. For the interest of newcomers, you and your delightful pet rocks are welcome to join me any time. On all matters concerning them, I am a walking encyclopaedia of useful facts, figures and management tips. I am here to advise on general care, grooming, diet, peculiar ailments and seasonal matters. You can tell me all your happy (or sad) pet rock experiences. I will help you climb your every mountain and shoulder all your burdens as long as you are housing one of my precious little pet rocks. It is my intention to make sensitive pet rock whisperers out of each and every one of you. You only have to latch on to the correct state of mind in order to achieve it. Tune in to me once a week and my expert, skillful state of mind will gradually rub off on you. Before you know it, you will be thinking like a Dumpling and the world of pet rocks will open up to you like a magical mountain of rubble.
I am the quarrymistress, pet rock charmer and life-chairman of the world-famous Rubble Club which is held weekly in my lovely rock-strewn parlour. There is always a delicious buffet of home made rock cakes and speciality teas, and always something new to learn about your pet rock and its funny little ways. Every dutiful owner will be here to hang upon my every word, in case some gem of wisdom should fall out of my mouth which will change you and your pet rock's life forever.
This week is gossip week, because it has been raining all week and the pet rocks are in a cynical, bad mood. It's only natural, because in the wild, dampness chills and rots their lower extremities, finding all their weak, soft spots, crumbling them from the ground up, so to speak. A spot of rain now and again is welcome and refreshing, but relentless wetness, day after day, with no time to dry out is a poisonous climatic influence for a rock, along with frost and storm-force gales, for other reasons. A rock's favourite weather is sunshine. When they are damp, all they can think about and wish for is warmth and sunshine. The bad moods associated with dampness are sarcasm and cynicism. The expression on the face is that of a spoilt brat, for which,(I know), I have only myself to blame for spoiling them. I fall for it every time. I can see they are listening to the rain outside, and working themselves up into a grumpy mood. Their eyelids droop a bit and I know they are thinking the worst of me, eyeing me up and down, challenging me to come up with some entertainment for themto take their minds off the rain. I have trudged around the beach in the rain looking for driftwood for the fire till my feet have turned an unattractive shade of blue, the wet hem of my petticoats slopping unpleasantly against my ankles, making them swell up unattractively. It's a good job nobody has called in to see me in a way, because I am not looking my best. Anyway, to spite everyone, I am going to talk about them behind their backs. Unlike the pet rocks, who depend on me to entertain them to lift their mood, I have a voice and can unburden my dampness through spiteful gossip. So, here goes,
Spiteful gossip No. 1
That Granny Gray, my shopkeeper at the Magic Wand Factory Shop in Dickson Road, Blackpool has forgotten to hand out my specially-baked rock cakes to my devoted friend and prefect, Linedancer, who dutifully called in to the shop this week to collect her shiny new prefect's badge. I don't know what your pet rocks are having for elevenses, Linedancer, but whatever it is, it can not be better than the gritty little dainties I had prepared for them, if only the doddery old fool had not forgotten to follow my instructions correctly and given them to you. They were rightfully yours, so please demand that she gives them to you along with a sincere apology. Anyone else interested in a rock cake now knows they have to ask specially for one, because who knows how long it will be before she puts them on display where they belong. The incompetent old fool!
Spiteful gossip No. 2.
I swear that husband of mine, Malcolm Dumpling is turning into a giant pet rock. When it's raining he mopes around, refusing to work, pretending he has lost his tools and doesn't feel too well, etc.. His eyelids start to droop and his mouth turns down at the corners and he stands looking out of the window, watching the rain, his hands stuck like limpets next to the pet rock display on the windowsill. He waits for me to go out in the rain to fetch the wood, light the fire, bake the cakes and brew the tea then he sits down in his enormous rocking chair, eats and drinks while I tell him and the pet rocks amusing stories about the olden days and before I've even finished my first story, he goes to sleep (until I pinch him).
Spiteful gossip No 3.
Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector who lives across on the hill in the Watery Wetlands, predicted that the rain would carry on for another week, but he was wrong again. It's fine today, for now at least. Perhaps he should stick to inspecting and stop predicting. He thinks he knows everything, but unlike me, he doesn't.
Ah, I feel better now. I think I have turned the corner and am back to my old positive self again. It's funny how other people's (and creatures') moods can affect you, isn't it? However, remember, Rubble Clubbers, it's your duty as pet rock owners to take responsibility for you own good temper, like I do, and when it's raining, turn the lights on, light the fire, bake some rock cakes, crack some jokes or if you can't fake a smile, have a good old spiteful gossip till you can gossip no more, as and when necessary. That's my remedy for damp spirits. It never fails.
I have to leave you now, whoever you are. Please write to me to let me know you are there, if only to say "Hello Madge, the pet rock is fine". It would mean the world to me, especially in the rain, when we can all use some outside warmth and support.
Till next week, I remain your faithful chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 20 June 2008

2008-06-20T10:24:00.002+01:00

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.

Meeting of the Rubble Club June 13th2008

2008-06-13T10:39:00.002+01:00

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is your little friend Madge Dumpling at your service again, happy to accommodate you in my parlour for this week's pet rock fanciers' gathering. Now today I would ask you to keep a careful eye on your pet rocks, and not let them go frolicking off together round my parlour because it has come to my attention that we are in the middle of something of a mating season. Perhaps it's just the Blackpool sunshine going to their heads and causing all the swellings, lumps and bumps that I am noticing on some of my prime specimens, but my highly developed Dumpling family magical instincts tell me otherwise. If I am right, expect to see them on the shelves in the pet rock department of the Magic Wand Factory shop in Dickson Road, hanging their heads in shame, lumps, bumps and all, looking for new homes.
Oh, crikey! As I speak, one of them is hatching out. If they all hatch out, we are going to be overrun with baby rocks. I'll have to have a nursery wing built on to my parlour if I'm going to cope with it all. I mean, it's not as if I just have my little rockies to care for, because as you know I am also a world famous caterer. My crunchy rock buns and gravel tea are the toast of Undergrowby, and I'm sure lots of Rubble Club members only put in an appearance for that little Friday taste of heaven that I alone can give them. I had not bargained for becoming a full-time pet rock midwife, as it seems I am fated to be. Rubble Clubbers, I think it is your duty to make your way to the magic wand shop from wherever you are and adopt one of these errant one- parent families and give them a new roomy start in life, far away from my overcrowded little parlour. They could be used as free baby-sitters for all your little pet rock orphans. It's about all they are fit for because they are too hormonal and obsessed with parenting to be reliable at anything else, and lovable as they may be, they all like to think they are earning their keep, after all. I must warn you though that they will not part with their precious new offspring for hundreds of years and will therefore be useless specimens for entering into the annual pet rock show. There is, as you may or may not know, no category for one-parent families, but if I am left with them all, perhaps I will have to create one, (not that I am just in it for the glory of winning prizes, in case you were thinking the worst of me [although I do have a cupboard full of red rosettes, as you would expect from a world famous expert like myself])
I would now like to make a public announcement. The large broken boulders which have been toppled from the rockeries on the artificial 'cliffs' leading down to the sea on Blackpool's north promenade are none of my doing. I know I told you that I spend most of my days wandering through tunnels behind the rocks looking for rock samples, but I am only six inches tall and am incapable of throwing huge boulders down the cliffs. No, it was not me. It was the work of some naughty young male vandals who took no notice of me when I told them off for doing it. I was shouting at them"Stop! Murderers!" through a slit in the rock face, but they were heartless creatures without a care for the hundreds of pet rock seeds that fell to their death that day. Anyway, I have given Granny Gray a full description of them and if they come into the shop they are not allowed to adopt any pet rocks, ever. That should punish them. I can't think how else to proceed. I loved those boulders. I have a moments' silence every time I walk past the gaping holes where they once were.
On that sad note, I have to leave you before I start to fall into a depression, which is against my nature, being made of rock hard true grit as I am, like all those who are born in the earthy, grit-laden gnomestead known as the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby.
Before I go I must just tell my new prefect and trusted ally, Linedancer, that her yellow prefect's badge is now ready. I found a pin for it finally. I found it on the steps leading down to the sea, attached to a rude badge which I tore from a cowboy hat which lay next to a sunbathing linedancer. Perhaps it was you, Lineancer, in which case, shame on you for the rude badge. Your prefect's badge will be a much more fitting fashion accessory for a gorgeous trend-setting Rubble Clubber like yourself.
I shall be seeing you all next Friday,m meanwhile I remain your devoted chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club Meeting 6th June 2008

2008-06-06T09:19:00.002+01:00

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.

Rubble Club Meeting 30th May 2008

2008-05-30T12:22:00.002+01:00

Hello pet rock lovers, this is Madge Dumpling, chairman of the Rubble Club of Undergrowby welcoming you and your little rockies to this week's meeting here in the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby. I expect you were thinking how nice and tidy and clean my parlour is today, well it's all thanks to my little winged helpers, the elf twins from the elf spa, my good neighbours and devoted pet rock fanciers. They (quite rightly) consider it their duty to come over with their mops and brushes on a rescue mission once a week, searching for fallen pet rocks from dark, dusty corners between my furniture where (I pretend) they otherwise would remain unnoticed for years because my eyesight is not what it used to be. I'll let you into a secret, Rubble Clubbers, I have planted them there. They haven't fallen at all. The twins have hearts of gold and their cleaning skills are world famous, but they are not very bright.
Every time they come they leave with a handful of my naughtiest, dustiest little rockies, who will be sure of a nice, kind, shiny clean home at the Elf Spa and I get my sweeping and dusting done for nothing. You may think me sneaky and mean, but as you know, I am too busy and important to be spring cleaning all the time, and they just live to mop, after all.
Living in Undergrowby, here in Blackpool, is turning out to be very wonderful. There is so much for pet rocks to do and see. A whole new world has opened up for them, and for me. For instance, a troupe of line-dancers came into the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road and made a beeline (as line-dancers do) for my pet rock shelf. Of course, they all just had to have a pet rock to stick down the bands of their cowboy hats. I can only imagine that now somewhere out there, line-dancing away in some posh ballroom, are my little rockies, memorizing all the dance steps for their lucky new owners. I feel almost guilty that I never considered that they might have been missing all this fun for so many hundreds of years. Thank goodness for Blackpool and its strange but wonderful mix of humans!
It has made me think about what other pet rock hobbies we can find for their entertainment. In the area of water sports, I have discounted swimming and water skiing, because though they are good, brave divers, making a sweet little plopping sound as they enter the water, they have no arms and legs to keep them moving, and if not rescued they would drown. I think they would like sailing, perhaps on a nice big model boat built especially for the purpose, or sitting safely next to you in a rowing boat on the lake, guarding your picnic basket. Be sure to take some extra food for the ducks and seagulls though, or they might be tempted to make a dinner out of your little friend instead. Many a pet rock has been taken and met with a sticky end while out on the cliffs, innocently bird-watching (one of the more traditional pet rock hobbies, along with people-watching, meditating and dust-collecting). What hobbies do your pet rocks have, Rubble Clubbers? I am offering prize for the best new innovative pet rock hobby, to reward those of you who have considered the matter, even briefly.
I would now like to reply to my emails, well, email. Hello Linedancer. Your elegant prefect's badge is nearly ready and awaiting firing in Grandpa Gray's kiln, when he finally gets round to fixing the broken elements, and that gossipy old Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, who spies upon my emails, read your approving comments about her and now thinks she is quite perfect and world-famous like myself.
And she isn't.
I am sorry I haven't done any baking this week. I didn't want to mess up my nice clean kitchen, so instead of eating, this week you can nibble on one of those Blackpool slimline seaweed fronds which I have stacked-up so artistically on this plate, while I take you on a tour round my kitchen and you can tell me how sparkling it is. I'll be back to normal cooking up a storm next week, so don't expect to get into the kitchen at all then.
I have to go now, Rubblers, so give some thought to what useful, life enhancing hobbies you can invent for your pet rocks before next week, even if it's only stamp-collecting, and we can swap ideas between us when we meet again. Till then I remain your world-famous devoted friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club, 23 May 2008

2008-05-23T09:19:00.003+01:00

Hello, Madge Dumpling here again welcoming you to this week's meeting of the Rubble Club of Undergrowby. Thanks to my soon-to-be prefect, Linedancer, who kindly wished for sunshine, we have had lovely weather all week here in Blackpool, and I am building up to telling you all about the magical triangular implications of summertime, which feels like it might have arrived early, thanks to you, Linedancer. Granny Gray has just arrived at the meeting and is making a beeline for my delicious new sandy rock puddings. She is within earshot, so we can't gossip about her today. Hey, Granny! don't forget your diet! We don't want you looking like a dumpling behind that counter, no matter how much you hope people will mistake you for a Dumpling. There's only one Madge Dumpling, Rubble Clubbers, and that's me.
Where was I? I was getting on to the triangular implications of summertime, which seem to be completely ignored in the human world, but now you own a pet rock, you will need to know about Undergrowby's magical little ways in order to keep your rockies perfectly in harmony with the seasons.
Summer is the shining, heart-warming season of the fire element. If you observe the shape of a fire, you will see it is triangular, with the point at the top, its hottest spot. At the very top, the point disappears into nothing, but the heat still rises into the air, towards the invisibles, the angels and ancestors in High Heaven, who embody its light and heat. That's why they are sparkly, tiny, shiny and happy all the time. We need to keep them that way because they are in charge of blessings and good luck.
Now, for those who do not know, the map of Undergowby is also a map of the human body upside down. The fire element area, the Summerlands, is at the bottom of the map but at the top of the body. In the body, the base of the fire, the hearth, is at the heart centre. If it is glowing well, the heart and mind is at peace(Heart and hearth sound very much alike, don't they, Rubble Clubbers?) The flames rise from the hearth to light up the chambers of the mind and shine out somewhere between the eyes in a kind of rosy glow beaming upon life, seeing the good in everything. The tip of the triangle ends somewhere in the invisible, heavenly-connection space just above the head. We Growbies know how important this space is and we wear pointed hats to keep it cosy. The better our fire is shining, the more pointy our hats become. You can tell a lot about a Growby by the nature of his or her hat.
Now, on to houses. You might have noticed, those of you who have visited my pet rock department in the Magic Wand Factory Shop in Dickson Road, Blackpool, that my pet rock kennels have a pointed roof. That is to keep the pet rocks' triangles cosy while they rest. When they and indeed us, Rubble Clubbers, are exhausted or cold, and our inner fires start to grow dim, our triangles shrink and droop. It's only natural. We need rest. You humans have not yet learned the life skill of wearing pointed hats, so you need more rest in summertime than us Growbies. Pet rocks have the most magnificent triangles of any species on earth, and after a little rest in their kennel, are able to radiate enough peace and joy from the chambers of their great minds to fill the whole room with love.
If you cannot get a kennel, I would advise you make your pet rocks a little pointed paper tent in which to rest, or if you want to really spoil them, even a little pointed hat. Think of it like a solar panel, because in summertime, pet rocks can absorb and compress acres of sunshine into their little triangles to power their limitless memory banks, ready for the challenge of winter, which is governed not by fire but by water.
I think you have the triangular picture now, Rubble Clubbers. There's more to pet rock keeping than I like to say at first, in case it puts people off, but what's good for a pet rock is good for its owners too, and you can learn a lot about yourself by sharing their little lives. You could try sleeping in a pointed hat yourselves, Rubble Clubbers, and see how your triangle feels in the morning. You might decide to keep it on all day like me, Madge Dumpling, who remains, as ever, your devoted chairman and friend, till we meet again.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 16th May 2008

2008-05-15T20:38:00.004+01:00

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.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 9th May 2008

2008-05-09T10:21:00.003+01:00

Welcome once again, Rubble Clubbers, to the world-famous Rubble Club of the magical world of Undergrowby. This is Madge Dumpling, Quarrymistress of the Rocky Headlands, Rubble Club Chairman and pet rock whisperer at your service, inviting you to sample a new recipe I have concocted for today's members' buffet, crusty seaweed nibbles. It's that final sprinkling of sand and grated shells that makes them so crunchy and delicious. Go on, try one. I know many of you only come to steal my recipes, so I have to ring the changes.
Today I think I need to spend some time talking to you about spring ailments in pet rocks, so you can recognize the symptoms and treat them. The first and most important is depression. The first signs of it are red eyes. Even a faint flush of pink in the eyes is good enough reason to watch out for a temper tantrum. Then stiffness and rigidity and crossed-eyes (even more than usual) will start to come on, after which they will sink into a black mood which can last for weeks if untreated.
The cause of it is threefold. Firstly, it's spring and pet rocks love the summer and although normally patient and reasonable, there is something in the east wind in spring that brings out the tyrant in them. When spring is coming to an end, try though they might, they just can not wait for summer to begin. The good thing is, time passes and with it the sulkiness.
The second cause is draughts, again from the east wind. People have a tendency to open windows during spring cleaning and oblivious to the toxic effects of the east wind, allow their pet rocks to sit by east-facing open windows for a treat. It is perfectly safe to do so in every other season but not in spring. In spring the east wind is a powerful force for change. It is like as magic wand, blowing out the old and in with the new, often carrying seeds of wealth, but pet rocks dislike change and have no use for wealth. They like to be confident of exactly who and where they are because they have to hold on to their history in their vast memory banks, like the mountains whose block they are a chip off.
The third is lack of attention. If you were a pet rock left on a shelf unable to move yourself to where interesting things are happening you would get angry and frustrated too. At all times of
the year this is the case, but especially in spring when the poor little things already contending with all the other aforementioned dangerous influences. We two-legged ones also suffer from the spring moods as well, but at least if we are feeling grumpy we can walk up to someone nice and cuddly and link arms for comfort. They can't, so the best advice I can give you to stave off the pet rock spring rages is to keep them about your person at all times, then they will have so much snooping, eavesdropping and fact-remembering to do, they won't even realize spring is here.
I am sure that most of you Rubble Clubbers will have no spring trouble at all, no red eyes, no rigidity and no tantrums, because like me, you treat your pet rocks like princes and princesses, well-loved, well-socialised, in your pocket and in touch with their own kind every week here at the Rubble Club. However, like the devoted pet rock handlers that you are, I know you like to learn all my time-honoured techniques for advanced pet rock welfare. So there you are, learn them you have! Before you start getting above your station and thinking you will have my job very soon, I must advise you you have a long way to go yet. Your expertise will need sharpening for a few hundred years before you can hope to snatch my chairman's crown away.
I must go and mingle with the membership now, Rubblers, so until we meet again, I remain your devoted chairman, friend and world-leading expert, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 2nd May 2008

2008-05-02T11:15:00.002+01:00

Hello Rubble Clubbers, Madge Dumpling again, and a great big welcome to you all. I haven't started cooking yet, I've been so busy reading and re-reading my two wonderful emails from cyber-space. I was beginning to wonder whether I was imagining you all. What wonderful names you have out there, Anonymous and Linedancer for instance. I have added them to my long list of suggestions for pet rock names. Anonymous, can you hear me my friend? Thank you for your kind words of comfort. Are you far away in cyberspace or are you here at the meeting? Its so hard to tell. If you ever come into the Magic Wand shop at the sea end of Dickson Road, Blackpool, I have saved you a rune rock. Just mention my name and yours and it will be handed to you.
And now on to my other new email penpal and new rune rock owner, the lovely Linedancer, who recklessly shared information with that gossipy Granny Gray, the shopkeeper, about her kind and gentle niece, Laura, who has some lucky little rockies of her own. I must warn you, Linedancer, she tells me everything she hears but luckily for you I am the soul of discretion and will only tell my entire membership (and most of them are invisible gnomes). From what I have gleaned from the old gossip, all I can say is that I wish Laura could be here in person because I would shower her with fabulous little treats for being such an animal lover like myself. Laura, if you are here at the meeting, I daresay, animal-lover that you are, you are worrying and wracked with guilt about keeping your pet rocks in captivity, and wondering if they might be happier on a mountainside somewhere with others of their own kind. Well, let me put your mind at rest. Search though you might for a nice place to release them back into the wild, you won't find one. There are NO others of their own kind out there on any mountainsides, rubble heaps, quarries or pebbly beaches anywhere in the world. I have just rescued them from all that, magicked them into the life for which they were always destined and now their idea of heaven is in right there in your safe, warm pocket, Laura. The nearest to the great outdoors they want to be is having a little sunbathe in a plant pot next to your deckchair. Pet rocks are the ultimate animal lover's guilt-free delight because of it.
And now on to more animal-themed business. Donkeys. It has come to my attention while listening in to conversations through chinks in the 'cliffs' that there are these jingling four-legged creatures who visit Blackpool beach to give fun to little children who ride on their backs. It reminds me of an old Undergrowby folk tale about the Paradise Donkey.
When someone is especially kind to others and shares their burdens and troubles without complaint again and again, it is said they will be visited one day by the Paradise Donkey, a tiny angel animal, who will appear returning towards them in the river of time, decked in flowers, and carry them forward into a life gifted and blessed by the angels and ancestors, who see and reward everything we do from their perches in the far away misty mountaintop gnomestead known as High Heaven. A paradise donkey is a very lucky creature, much painted and sculpted by Undergrowby artists as good luck charms. Growbies give them to each other as a way of saying 'Thank you, and I hope the Paradise Donkey calls on you soon", a common gift theme in Undergrowby.
I am wondering if these four-legged creatures may be a giant version of the same thing? So far I have not spotted one, so perhaps I am not destined for ancestral blessings and good fortune just yet. If you spot one before me, Rubble Clubbers, and decide to send your pet rocks off on a donkey ride, make sure they are tied on securely, with a rubber band or sticky tape, perhaps.
I really do have to start cooking now. Headwin Boulder, who only comes for the rock buns, is putting his coat on and is about to leave. 'Stop, Headwin! look, I am just about to start. Have a stick of that Blackpool rock to put you on." (It really looks nothing like a rock does it? Good job, I say. Cannibalism is frowned upon amongst pet rock lovers. If I ever see any of you eating one of your pet rocks, I will confiscate your entire collection immediately)
Take good care of your little darlings and enjoy the holidays. A little trip to Blackpool, perhaps, to enjoy the sunset over the sea and stock up on pet rocks? If so, tell your secrets to Granny Gray and we'll all be reading about them next week. Until we meet again next Friday. I remain your devoted chairman and discreet friend, Madge Dumpling.

Meeting of the Rubble Club 25th April 2008

2008-04-25T09:38:00.002+01:00

Welcome in, Rubble Clubbers, I am Madge Dumpling, your chairman and cook and you have arrived at the world-famous Rubble Club, frequented by pet rock lovers and their adorable little rockies from far and wide. That lovely smell you can smell is my latest tasty invention, crunchy seashell nibbles. They are just as delicious as my rock cakes but instead of adding rock chippings to the seaweed flour and water, I have added finely crushed seashells from Blackpool beach. They're full of goodness! Help yourselves! What's mine is yours, as always, but please don't go rummaging through my cupboards.
Something wonderful has happened this week, Rubble Clubbers, something of great magical proportions. Cast up on the beach, I found a drift of translucent snow-white rock specimens. As we all know, that sort of light-transmitting white rock originates in the mountains of High Heaven, where the angels, ancestors and intermediaries live. Every now and again, when some angelic influence is called for here amongst us mortals, a piece will turn up. As soon as I have used my age-old Dumpling magic to turn it into a pet rock, a runic symbol always appears upon it, a sign from the ancestors, who are very old and still speak in the runes of yesteryear. They have not yet mastered our modern tongue, it seems. Sure enough, once the rune rock has appeared, its rightful owner turns up within the next few days, and the magic is theirs.
It is very rare for such a large cluster to turn up all at once, but nothing happens for no reason. There must be quite a few of you out there who are in need of some special magic at this time, so for once, Rubble Clubbers, you do not need to enter a competition to get something from me. All you have to do is turn up in the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool and say these magic words...."MADGE DUMPLING HAS A RUNE ROCK FOR ME", and the shop assistant will pass one to you FREE OF CHARGE! You have only one week to get here, though, because rightful owners always turn up within a few days of the magic being set in stone. If you arrive after the 3rd of May, you will be too late. Still, every pet rock has a lucky magic of its own even without a rune, and we can fix you up with plenty of them to choose from. If you do turn out to be the rightful owner of a rune rock, you might consider buying it a little friend to play with. If you have pet rocks already, you will find the rune rock will look after them (and you) like a guardian angel.
So there, Rubble Clubbers, what more can you ask? A magic deal that only those who attended this meeting can ever know about. A rare prize indeed! I have to go and start wrapping them up now, so I'll leave you and your dear little pets to enjoy the party food. Stay well until we meet again next Friday. I remain your magical little friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 18th April 2008

2008-04-18T11:30:00.001+01:00

Hello pet rock fanciers, your little friend Madge Dumpling here again welcoming you to another meeting of the world-famous Rubble Club. Spread your pet rocks out in a row in front of the computer screen so they can read what's going on. That's it. Hello Rockies! You are looking every bit as lovely as I remember you my darlings....pampered, petted and proud of your owners, and getting all your own way too, I see. It's good to see you have found yourselves someone loves you as much as me.
For those of you who did not attend, we had a lovely sentimental ancestors' day last Saturday. Bigger crowds than ever, all weeping, watching the sun go down together over the shimmering horizon of the Blackpool sea remembering the olden days of the ancestors. Last year we all stood on the edge of Undergrowby pond in a weed patch in the middle of nowhere. No wonder more of us turned up this year. More of the ancestors turned up too, judging by the spectacularly twinkly sky ( where they now live, of course, in High Heaven with the angels and other Invisibles). I think they are going to like us being in Blackpool now, because with all that sky, they can really spread out. They can sit on the edge of the clouds in the sun and watch the holidaymakers playing with their pet rocks on the beach. I can't help wondering if this move to Blackpool might be a heavenly ancestral retirement plan, as much for themselves as for us here down below.
Anyway, having paid our respects to the ancestors, they will send us fabulous great good fortune in the year to come, as they always do. We Growbies and our magic pets are very lucky creatures by nature, and now you, who are connected to us in the world-famous Rubble Club can be sure you will be lucky too, as long as you join in all the magical happenings, like my lucky club competitions for instance. So watch out for the next one, Rubble Clubbers!
What's the weather like for you and your wonderful little pets, Rubblers? If your pet rocks are living indoors all the time, they will be missing the changes of weather that they once knew when they lived in the wild, and you might be wondering what to do about it. Well, when you have a collection of pet rocks as big as mine, you can't fit them all on the windowsill to watch the clouds roll by, so you have to be creative in your thinking. My tip is this...paint them a few little pictures of different sky weather patterns and stick a different one on the wall next to them every day, like I do. Deep down they will know it's not real, but it will show you understand what they are going through, and are doing your best to make them happy.
They will be having little guessing games with each other about what the weather will be doing tomorrow. They call it 'the weather forecast game'. There's no need to worry that it might encourage gambling, Rubble Clubbers, because they have no money after all. If they had, they would save it for a rainy day, like the wise little creatures that they are. I have noticed, however, that they are very fond of those tiny shells used to decorate their sandcastles. No sooner do I stick them in place, I find them dropped off onto the floor of the sand-pit in a heap. Perhaps they are being used for counters in some game they have dreamed up. They are such clever little chaps, aren't they?
My parlour is getting very full today. There are faces I have not seen in long time, no doubt they had their consciences pricked by the Ancestors' Day remembrances last week.
I might have to abandon the Rubble Club entrance in a minute and catch up on the gossip from Wanderella Windmeddler, chief wand-maker of the Magic Wand Factory of the Wandmakers' Forest. There isn't much in the way of trees here in Blackpool, so the Wandmakers' Forest has turned out to be more like a shrubbery. She has been planting tree seeds as fast as she can but none of them have sprouted yet. I wonder if she has found herself a new apprentice yet? She's been looking for as long as I can remember. My daughter Minnie had a go at being her apprentice but she couldn't stand the racket from all those cuckoo clocks Wanderella has. She'll be very lucky if she finds anyone mad enough to stay there.

Yoo hoo! Wanderella! How's little Runey Runerock? Let me introduce him to some new little friends over there on the mantelpiece. He's looking for a new brother, I can tell, or perhaps a sister, or an auntie? Leave him there while he thinks about it, and come and have a nice rock bun and a cup of gravel tea with me while we catch up.

Well, Rubble Clubbers, I'm off to mingle with the membership. I'll speak to you again next week. I wish you and your little darlings a very happy, super-lucky week.
As ever, I am your faithful friend, encyclopedically knowledgeable pet rock expert and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Cub 11th April 2008

2008-04-12T17:39:00.002+01:00

It’s Friday again, Rubble Clubbers and I Madge Dumpling, Undergrowby gnome, Quarry-mistress and devoted chairman of the world-famous Rubble Club, welcome pet rock lovers everywhere to today’s meeting. Members, send us some of your invisible cyber-energy will you, because those of us who are here will be needing it. There’s lots to prepare. Tomorrow is Ancestors’ Day in Undergrowby, when we remember the Olden Days of the ancestors and consult the map of mysteries through which their voices speak to us. To celebrate Ancestors’ Day properly, the Growbies ( as we Undergrowby gnomes are called), all flock respectfully to the eighth gnomestead of Undergrowby, the Rocky Headlands which, in the olden days, was an actual Rocky Headland in the north east of the ancient magical land of Undergrowby. It was a mountain beside the sea riddled with caves where wise hermits, teachers, librarians and keepers of ancient wisdom and relics could be found. At the foot of the inland face of the Rocky Headlands, across the path from the seven schools, was the stone quarry, home of the first pet rockery ever.

We Growbies have moved home several times since then, and our magical land has become smaller and smaller and more magical over the years (and so have we!). One day it may disappear for ever, but meanwhile we try to keep our dignity. Every time we move we have to refer to the ancient map of mysteries and decide where we and all our different magical specialities belong in the new place. If there are no mountains where the map shows one, we have to paint a picture of one, or build a model of one. We never forget the olden days and ways, because having things in their right kind of place,… that’s what makes the magic.

Now that we are living in Blackpool, we have tunneled around the area and decided to place the Rocky Headlands in the cliffs on the north promenade. If you look through the cracks in the rocks you might spot one of us tiny tunneling Growbies peeping out at you, and it might even be me, because that’s my place of work. It’s where I do my job as Rubble Club specimen collector, quarry-mistress and club chairman, and if you go there tomorrow, you may well spot me wandering around the rocks, thinking about the olden days, along with the other pet rock fanciers. The only difference between tomorrow and any other Saturday is that the whole population of Growbies will be there too, not just us sentimental, attractive Rubble Clubbers.

If we Growbies had coach trips like you humans, there would be coach trips full of gnomes arriving from every corner of the land to the Rocky Headlands tomorrow, so there will be hundreds of my famous rock buns required to feed them all. I was hoping you were going to all pitch in and help. I was also hoping for some volunteers to set out the ancient pet rock display for all to see and shed a tear over tomorrow. Every gnome has at least one pet rock (it’s traditional) so they will all have visited my adoption parlour at least once in their lives with their grandparents. The memories will come flooding back when they see my display tomorrow.

So, Rubble Clubbers, wherever you are, if you want to join in with tomorrow’s festivities, for the sake of making your pet rocks feel at home(because they never forget April 12th…they never forget anything…that’s their magic!), show them a big lump of rock or failing that, a picture of a mountain, and do some baking. They love the smell of rock buns baking, but any old family recipe will do. Then tell them your life story, all about your wise ancestors and the olden days. Take them on a trip round a graveyard or a monument and shed a tear or two. Otherwise they’ll think they are in the hands of a disrespectful heartless creature with no history.

R emember, Rubblers, its these kinds of golden moments they will remember forever. It’s their speciality, and they will treasure your memories for you, like the true friends they are.

Less chat and more action now, Rubblers! We have to get ready for tomorrow, so those of you who are not here to help, you are dismissed for now and I hope to see you and your lovely little rockies once again at next week’s meeting. Till then I remain your constant friend and chairman, little Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 4th April 2008

2008-04-06T15:11:00.000+01:00

04/04/2008 by Madge

Hello again Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling here again. The Growbies and I have just returned from the Rubble Club April Fools’ annual trip. For our trip last year we went rubbling around the cow-field nearby, but we lived in the country then. Now we live by the seaside so we went rubbling along the beach and had a picnic on the rocks. It made us think about something we had never had to think about before . The tide.

We sat for hours watching it, dropping hundreds of little pebbles and shells behind on the beach for us to collect. If we hadn’t picked them up, they would be swept up under the waves next time the tide came in. Those beach pebbles spend half their lives under water and half their lives high and dry on the beach, so it must be an awful shock for them to come home with us, get magicked into pet rocks and spend their entire lives in dryness.

So it’s official, these Blackpool pet rocks must definitely have their own little rock pool to sit in every now and again. It’s only fair, at least until they settle down. You can make a rock pool out of anything, a tea cup, a bowl, an egg cup, anything that will hold water. To make it more realistic you could put some sand in the bottom, and maybe some shells, and swish the water about with your fingers and make noises like the tide rushing, and seagulls squawking overhead. Make it up as you go along, Rubblers. I know I do. A dedicated, responsible pet rock owner is an inventive one.
In my little shop I have placed a little rock pool/ tidal hydrotherapy bowl which I have made, to demonstrate how cheerful the amphibious rockies are when sitting in the water. I hope my customers get the message. While I was at it, fiddling about making pottery, I made as few kennels and a sand-pit or two, complete with sand-castles, flags and tiny buckets and spades. If we had stayed in the country, the pet rocks would never have found out about such things, would they?

Hurray for Blackpool!

That brings us to the next competition. When you have made your own version of a rock pool for your little pets, send me a photo of it, complete with at least one pet rock enjoying the facility, and I will choose my favourite, (if more than one of you should enter, which is doubtful if your past performance is anything to go by!) The winner will win some pet rock paraphernalia, as usual.

I have to go now to get busy in the kitchen, to feed the trippers. It’s my duty. If you human members got a little bit more involved you would get invitations to the trips and parties too, but we can’t disclose details out there willy nilly, or the whole world would flock to our meeting places and there would be no room left on the beach for us.

Till next week, get in touch with your inner tidal flow, and make those rockies smile. I remain your devoted Rubble Club chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 28/03/2008

2008-04-06T15:10:00.000+01:00

28/03/2008 by Madge

Good day to you all, Rubble Clubbers. My parlour is almost full, but you can squeeze yourselves in somehow. There’s always room for invisible people like yourselves, luckily.

My little pet rock shelf inside the magic wand shop was well-visited over the Easter holidays, and as a result, many more pet rocks have found loving homes and the Rubble Club ranks will have therefore swollen somewhat. Let’s hope you newcomers are going to be keen, lively attenders of our weekly meetings, and let’s hope you are fonder of entering my fabulous competitions than the rest have been.

Apart from the beautiful, sun-tanned and happy humans who live around here, I have noticed that visitors from far and wide come to Blackpool to build sand-castles, and to watch the sun go down over the sea. Great big coaches arrive every day full of smiling humans with their buckets and spades. Now they are finding out it’s also the place to come to adopt pet rocks, so just watch, there’ll soon be coach parties arriving for more and more. I may have to take on an assistant if only I can find one with a touch of Dumpling magic like myself. Otherwise, how will I cope? I expect I will have to display a ‘SOLD OUT, PLEASE WAIT’ sign and make them queue round the block to wait for the next batch of rockies to hatch out. That may be a good thing. It will sort out the truly dedicated from the unsuitably impatient, won’t it?

Now, on to the business of the day. Seeds. Spring is the season for seed sowing, and I hope you are all busy sowing with a view to pet rock entertainment. They will need somewhere safe and pleasant to take the sun when the weather permits. Remember, they were outdoor creatures by birth, and although they are happy to be wherever you are, indoors or out, nothing would make them happier than to have their own little patch of earth where they can get back to nature now and again. They won’t run away, don’t worry. Give them a window box, a tub, a place in the border or rockery, or a plant-pot next to your deckchair. It will make them so happy, and that is all we want, isn’t it, Rubblers? It’s our job, after all. In case you want a tip on what seeds to sow, I will just whisper the word calendulas (pot marigolds). They are a magic herb for happiness, love and abundance. The magical effects of the calendula is said to be doubled by its being befriended by a pet rock. They get on like a pair of angels in your midst. I plant them every year. No wonder I am so happy and well-fed and well-loved. You can be too.

So, get sowing, Rubble Clubbers, till we meet again next Friday. Write to me with your queries and concerns, gossip and news reports. As always, I am your faithful friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling

Rubble Club 21/03/2008

2008-04-06T15:09:00.000+01:00

21/03/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers, come on in, this is Madge Dumpling again, bright and early this week with some good news for you. the Growbies have fixed me up with a little shop to rent. Well, it’s more of a cupboard if I’m honest. They have been tunneling away,( because that’s what gnomes do) digging for roots and making underground homes for us all here in Blackpool as they go, and they have discovered something wonderful right above our heads. The wand-maker’s human apprentice, Granny Gray and her husband Granddad Gray, has opened a new shop above ground where humans have been coming to buy her clay wands all winter long.

That greedy Granny Gray had spread her work for sale all over the room without one thought for me and my hundreds of little homeless rockies. Did she think we wouldn’t find out? Well when the Undergrowby tunnelers dug their way up into the middle of the shop and saw what was happening they reported back to me immediately. I was up through that tunnel like quicksilver, I can tell you. I spotted a nice big cupboard perfect for my purposes.

I gave Granny Gray a good dressing-down about her greedy ways and shamed her into emptying the cupboard of her wares and handing me the keys to it. I have filled it up with a charming display of pet rocks and their accessories for all to see. My own little shop! Imagine! I have no time for shopkeeping myself of course. I have my own work to do, so Granny Gray is minding my stall for me. It’s the least she can do.

The tunnelers, who do follow-up checks for me, tell me the rockies are going to lovely luxurious homes. I myself listen through cracks in the shop floorboards to check if Granny and Granddad Gray are instructing potential new pet rock owners correctly in their new duties. The squeals of delight when new owners meet their little pets for the first time are music to my ears. I’m loving Blackpool and its delightful humans!

And now a treat for you, Rubble Clubbers, a picture of the winning sandcastle made by Headwin Boulder. You don’t deserve it, because none of you even bothered to enter the competition, but just in case you think it’s all a figment of my imagination, here it is. So there!

More news next time, from your devoted chairman and shop-owning friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 14/03/2008

2008-04-06T15:07:00.000+01:00

14/03/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers, Madge Dumpling here again, and what a week this has been! Spring mayhem! All the Growbies are up and about again now spring has sprung, and they’re all over the place, exploring Blackpool. We all moved here just in time to go to sleep for the winter, so there was no time for exploration then.

The first job for the plantation workers is to decide where to establish their new Blackpool plantation, which will be named the Spring Green, and it must be in the east, which is lucky, because if it had to be in the west it would be ending up on the beach, where it would be washed away along with all those sandcastles every time the tide turns.
At the moment, they are having to make do with scattering nettle seeds into a few plant pots behind the pottery, but they have designs on Gynn Gardens,just around the corner. If any of you Rubble Club members have a bit of land to offer them, all you have to do is offer, and they’ll turn it into the Spring Green quicker than you can say nettle patch.

One wonderful piece of information has arisen from the spring explorations is concerning those edible pink Blackpool rocks which I was hoping were the stuff of fairy tales to scare pet rocks off to sleep. The Growbies have been meeting the local residents and shopkeepers, swapping our famous(in Undergrowby) confectionary line, tangle-root crunch, for some sweet multi-coloured sugar sticks wrapped in clear paper, bearing the title “Blackpool Rock”. How dare they
use the word ‘rock’ so loosely? It looks nothing like a rock, does it? I dare say many of you Rubble Clubbers already knew what this Blackpool Rock legend was all about and not one of you thought to contact me to put my mind at rest about it. And there I was, thinking there were cannibals about with a taste for snacking on Blackpool-born pink pet rocks. Now I can stop bolting the door hiding all the pink rockies whenever I hear human footsteps outside. Blackpool rock sticks are very nice, but I still prefer tangle-root crunch. It’s that tantalising blend of dandelion root sugar and nettle stings. They make your taste buds tingle.
As for the sandcastle competition, I am awarding the prize to Headwin Boulder who is now the reigning Undergrowby sandcastle champion. As none of you silent shy cyber-space members even bothered to enter yet again, I have decided to sulk and not publish the photo of it, which is now on view on my mantelpiece. A copy will only be sent to all who take the trouble to send me an email requesting it. Headwin has won the box of pet rock paraphernalia including pet rock toilet, rocking chair, perch, feeding bowl and baby bed, along with three almost identical orphans who are triplets, found together in the rubble, a truly rare phenomenon. Now, Rubblers, aren’t you jealous? Well, it serves you right.
I’m of for a walk in the spring winds now, to see what I can find down there at the foot of the rocks down by the sea-front. The tide is out, so I might even risk going down and down and down onto the sand. Some foreign pet rocks may have tumbled in with the tide, lying there exhausted on the beach. It wouldbe too cruel to let them tumble out again.
I’ll be here again next week, Rubblers. Help yourselves to rock buns.
Your friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling

Rubble Club 07/03/2008

2008-04-06T15:05:00.000+01:00

07/03/2008 by Madge

Good day to you one and all, Rubble Clubbers. It’s a bit crowded here today because Spring has sprung in Undergrowby and all the Growbies who have been sleep all winter long are now awake and out in force exercising their pet rocks like the responsible pet owners that they are. This is the first Friday of the Undergrowby new year and no pet rock owner worth his salt would miss today’s meeting. It’s a grand reunion! My baking is in spectacular demand and my parlour shelves are full to bursting with visiting pet rocks who, like their owners, have not seen the light of day all winter long. They have missed our competitions, haven’t they, Rubblers, and all those glittering prizes which were up for grabs while they slept. As luck would have it, no one entered the competitions anyway, so they are still in with a chance. Excuse me for a moment while I hand them all a bucket of sand and get them busy round the kitchen table making sand-castles. The sand castle competition may yet be won!

Right, that’s them busy, now back to business. I have told them and I am telling you that I intend to judge that pesky sand castle competition this week, so, all you Rubble Clubbers out there in cyber-space, if you want to win the star prize of an assortment of pet rock paraphernalia, can you compete with these little Growbies around my kitchen table or not? I shall be publishing the winning photo next Friday, so be quick. Send your sand castle photos to madgedumpling@undergrowby.co.uk

I have to warn you, Rubblers, I am worn out today, thanks to all the spring festivities, maypole dancing and maypole ribbon swapping, spring cleaning, cabbage planting, blossom counting, not to mention baking for today, the busiest meeting of the year. All the rock buns are gone already, as I expected. That makes a pleasant change anyway.

Let me introduce you to some of the members. this is Mavis Mudfield, a nimble fingered knitter and seamstress from the Home Plains. She only collects the pink pet rocks because she likes to match them to her decor. I’ll tell you more about her later when she isn’t listening. And this is Headwin Boulder, the boy from the sweet shop nearby in the Rocky Headlands. He is a big strong boy, very brainy and he’s the star pupil of Miss Tick, his teacher, who is supervising his sand-castle construction project as we speak. If he does not win the competition, Miss Tick will be quite astonished, but don’t be discouraged, Rubblers, you could beat him if only you would enter.

Over there scowling in the corner, her rather large frame squeezed into my own pet rocking chair and refusing to move, is Lettuce Tweaver, chief basket-maker and bully from the Basketmakers’ house in the Wandmaker’s Forest. Oh, she has just heard about the prize and she is heading for the sand castle table. Look! Her pockets are stuffed with my rock buns, the greedy girl! Quick, let me tiptoe across and sneak myself back into my chair while I can. I’ll introduce you to her some other time.

There are lots more members and their accompanying scandalous gossip yet to be introduced, but one week at a time, Rubble Clubbers, one week at a time! this week, I’m not moving from my chair again. I’m going to sit here and watch the pet rocks mingling amongst themselves getting up to no mischief at all as usual. You can always depend upon that, can’t you, Rubblers? Till next week I remain your faithful friend and chairman Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 29/02/2008

2008-04-06T15:04:00.000+01:00

29/02/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers. Welcome all you nervous new members and to all you lovely cheeky regulars. I hope you, like me, are all set for Mothers’ day on Sunday. Motherly-looking pet rocks all need to be polished and groomed and lined up ready for the orphans to present their pretty little cards to them. Orphans need to be polished and groomed and cards glued by their sides. See mine over there on the windowsill, orphans on one side, mothers on the other? That’s the way I like it.

I like to see everything prepared well in advance as you know, because these sentimental occasions matter!

Now, Rubble Clubbers, it has come to my attention that some of these little orphan rockies have been guilty of an occasional accident of a toilet-related kind, and droppings have been brought to me by way of proof. I’m still not convinced. My little pets are bred for their clean habits. In all the hundreds of years I have been raising pet rocks such a thing has never been heard of until now. I suspect the suspicious little black blobs were more likely dropped by a thoughtless passing spider.

Nevertheless, responsible as ever(you know me by now, Rubblers!), I have designed a pet rock litter tray complete with toilet roll, and for those who are worried about their furniture being plopped-on by their pet rocks(I still don’t believe it), you can add one to your pet rock paraphernalia and I recommend you sit your little rockies on it for a few minutes every now and then, together with some kind of command, like “Do a doo doo, or poo poo” or something of that kind, and being the obliging little creatures that they are, they will do their best to produce something for you. If they start to look worried or stressed when they are on the toilet, please give up on the toilet training and let them go back to the windowsill in peace. As I said, I am not at all sure they were ever capable of doing anything at all in the first place! Mine quite like sitting there, however. I think they think it’s a sand pit. None of them has pooed at all to date, as I expected. If you want to join in the experiment, you will have to contact me to purchase a toilet of your own, or make one in a match box or bottle top filled with sand. Remember the little toilet roll(soft of course), which I expect you to make from only the best ingredients.

I see no one has entered the competition again. Ah, well.

Help yourselves to gravel tea and rock buns but please do not eat every last bun on the plate because I need to save some for the mothers’ day tea party. Although I would normally sleep through till next Friday(in fits and starts because I am not the most skillful of sleepers), I have set my alarm for tea time on Sunday, when I will be doing the Mothers’ Day card presenting ceremony for those poor little orphan rockies. Well, they can’t do it for themselves, can they, Rubblers, eh?

I’ll leave you now, one and all. Have a lovely week until we meet again. Your friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 22/02/2008

2008-04-06T15:00:00.000+01:00

22/02/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers, and welcome to the last meeting in February(your time) and one of the many lonely meetings of wintertime (Undergrowby time, my time). I don’t know how you humans keep going all winter long the way you do. At least I only have to be on top form one day a week (today, Friday) doing my duties here for pet rocks everywhere. The other six days of the week I’ll be dozing away the winter in my little bed cupboard down in the cellar, so don’t trouble yourself to come visiting. Nobody will hear you knocking at the door.

This week, I’ve emptied the table ready for a craft session, Rubblers. We’ll be making Mothers’ Day cards for those little orphan rockies to send to the nearest thing they can find to a mother. Help yourselves to paper and paints, that’s it! You don’t have to be artistic, just a few dots of colour and a few sentimental words, like “Be My Mother” or “I’ve Got No One on Mothers’ Day” or “Am I yours?”or anything else you can think of that would help melt hearts of stone and bring out the mothering instinct in those childless adult rocks. Good luck with that Rubblers. I wish you and those poor orphans well. Now, keep those little cards secret till Mothers’ Day, by which time you will have decided which orphans will have which card glued to their hearts and which adult they will be targetting. If by some strange chance you have no suitable adults, this would be a good time to get some, ready for Mothers’ Day. It would be very sad and depressing for them if those orphans had your lovely home-made cards and no one to give them to! Better to forget celebrating Mothers’Day all together. (But then, you could lend them your own mother for the day, couldn’t you? Tell her to reassure them by dressing up like a pet rock for a while now and again. They’ll be thrilled!)

By next week’s meeting I want you to promise me you will find mothers for them all, because these cards you are making are just too beautiful to waste.

Now, next on the agenda is the competition. I know you will be as surprised as me Rubble Clubbers, when I announce that sadly, nobody at all has entered the pet rock sandcastle competition. The tantalising star prize is still waiting. Does nobody want it?

Right, that’s your Mothers’ Day cards done! Excellent work, Rubblers. Now I’ll serve the tea and rock buns. They’re nice and well done as usual, burned to a crisp, just how we like them. Eeeh, it’s thirsty work being a pet rock collector, isn’t it?

I’m going to leave you now to talk among yourselves while I go and line up all the volunteering-to-be-a foster-mother pet rocks along the mantlepiece for you to consider.

We’ll meet again, Rubble Clubbers, next Friday, same place, not sure what time, it depends when you turn up

Your devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling

Rubble Club 15/02/2008

2008-04-06T14:58:00.000+01:00

15/02/2008 by Madge

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling, your chairman, speaking to you invisibly in cyber-space. Where are you all? I’m here on my own again, table laid, teapot steaming and rock buns smoking away in the oven. Oh, there you are, come in my dears and spread your rockies out on my shelves with the others. Go on , rockies, play amongst yourselves!

Well, Valentine’s Day was a bit of a flop this year yet again. I got no Valentines at all, how about you? That husband of mine slept straight through it again. Still, he probably got me one in his dreams. Devoid of a love life of my own, I decided to try to stir up a little romance between my little rockies, rearranging them, warming them up, squeezing them together tight, sprinkling them with love potions, etc. .(I hope you did too.) I am sad to say there was no sign of any blushing or lumps forming, but I’m not disheartened. Those rockies are always full of love and devotion for us but they don’t often get romantic with each other. They are too busy nosy-parkering into our affairs, swapping information between themselves and filing it all away in their memory banks to have time for their own baser instincts. Luckily, I say! Still, Valentine’s Day brings out the matchmaker in us all, doesn’t it?

Their mating season is very short and erratic, and only comes once in a blue moon. It’s hard to see it coming, then one day there be a bit of blushing. The next day a lump will form and before the day is over, out pops a baby pet rock. I don’t encourage it normally because they are terrible parents, abandoning their own and stealing everyone else’s. It’s no wonder they are a threatened species out in the wild without us Rubble Clubbers to cater for the casualties. Its a free-for-all breeding ground out there at the foot of the Rocky Headlands, hence all those orphaned pet rocks I keep finding everywhere, lost in the rubble, needing adoption.

Nobody has entered the sandcastle competition yet, in case you were wondering. Now Valentine’s Day is over, you might be able to concentrate a bit more on the things that matter and get entering. It’s funny, you know, but you Rubble Clubbers are not a very competitive lot , are you? Not one entry to any of my easy-peasy competitions have I had to date. I find it endearing actually, that you don’t want to upset each other by walking off with my fabulous prizes. I like you for it, Rubblers. It will take more than that to dishearten me, don’t worry. I won’t take it personally.

Come on, eat some more smoked rock-cakes. I can never bake enough when the weather is cold like this. They give you a kind of glow in the tummy, don’t they? Wash them down with some of this hot pepper tea. There you go. No, rockies, you’ve had enough for one day, now just concentrate on playing telepathic I Spy with each other nicely while we Rubblers swap ideas.

I can’t begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to springtime when all the Growbies wake up and life gets going again. It’s lonely being a gnome awake on your own in the winter. I’m one of the lucky ones. I have you to visit me in your own funny invisible little way.

When they wake up, you will meet all the other members. That will be a treat for you. Don’t ask me when it will be. It depends when the thorn bushes come into bloom. It varies. The blackbirds will let us know. Meanwhile, winter goes on and they all sleep, and miss all the fun, don’t they?

I’ll see you next week, Rubblers. Thanks for coming. Your friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 8/2/2008

2008-04-06T14:56:00.000+01:00

08/02/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers, and what a sunny day we have for our meeting. I think we could have an outdoor meeting today, it’s so mild. Come and have a root around in my pile of rubble and see if you can spot which are the budding pet rocks and which are just the ordinary ones. Have a feel at them, because the feel is as important as the look. Oh dear, Rubblers, I think you’d better leave it to me. You’re not doing very well at this. Perhaps you need to have the magical Dumpling family blood running through your veins before you can tell the difference. Don’t be too upset, Rubblers, it’s not your fault. You can’t all be a lucky Dumpling like me.

I see the bulbs are coming up in the gardens on my way down to the sea-front rockeries. We’ll soon be able to let our pet rocks play outside in the garden, hidden amongst the flowers where they are safe from thieving magpies (or is it seagulls now?) If you are scattering seeds around your flower beds around now, don’t forget to match your planting colours to your pet rocks, so they will have no trouble blending in to the background. That would be a pet rock’s worst nightmare, to end up in a magpie’s (or seagull’s) nest. They like me, are terrified of unsafe places.

Now, on the matter of Valentine’s Day, Feb. 14th, I hope you are rearranging your little pets to kindle the flame of romance between likely candidates.

Love dawns slowly between them, and it could take until Valentine’s Day next year before their cheeks start to turn that deeper shade of love-struck pink that we all love to see. Be warned though, Rubble Clubbers, it may never happen. They are very choosy indeed and most of them never find romance. Indeed, most of them never even look for it, they are so devoted to their work and their owners (you and me, Rubblers). If, despite all my discouragement, you do get them to inter-breed, please let me know. I will be offering you a job as a Dumpling!

Till next week, my friends, I bid you farewell, and much hugging and kissing between you and your nearest and dearest (pet rocks).

Your friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 1/2/2008

2008-04-06T14:54:00.000+01:00

1/2/2002 by Madge

Another new month, Rubble Clubbers! That means your pet rocks are another month older. I wonder how many thousands of years and months that makes them now? Yes, thank you, I am better now, and a bit too fidgety nowadays to stay asleep all week between meetings, so if you want to email me for a chat any time, I’ll probably be awake even if it isn’t Friday ( my email address is madgedumpling@undergrowby.co.uk)

I have a new competition for you this month. Since I have been living in Blackpool I have, as I’ve told you before, been spending a lot of time down by the sea-front rockeries examining those strange but homely-looking man-made rock-formations. Well, the other day, I went down the rocky slope, across a wide footpath, down another slope, another path and another slope and I found myself in an enormous flat sandy country with a wide stretch of sea along the skyline in the distance. It was spectacular! I think it’s called The Beach. The sun was shining and there were quite a few humans wandering around picking up pebbles, like myself, but there were others who were digging in the sand, making castles and sand pies, sticking flags all around them and decorating them with shells and pebbles. What a strange but beautiful idea, I thought! The rockies will love that, playing around in a sand-castle, pretending to be parts of an ancient wall, (which some of them might well have been once upon a time, who knows?) The sad thing is, that sea comes in and goes out again and when it has gone out, the sand castles all get washed away, and the pebbles are scattered all over the beach again. I wonder why they don’t build them somewhere else, up on the rocks where it’s safer? It seems like a lot of trouble to keep tracking down those scattered rockies and shells again, and rebuilding those castles every day. I wonder if those Beach dwellers are very stupid. Can’t they see it’s a waste of time? Ah, but wait, perhaps it’s a form of ancient magic ritual for those humans who live in The Beach. It may be the very thing that stops the sea from flooding the land and pouring down into my cosy little cellar. I’ll keep watching and learning, and let you know what I find out, Rubblers.

So, Rubble Clubbers, this month’s competition is this…get yourself some sand and build your little pets a tiny sand castle to play in. Send me a photo of it and the best three will win the prizes, which will be exclusive original pet rock paraphernalia of some kind. All your entries will be published on the pet rock pages of the Undergrowby web site. I don’t expect anybody really cares about winning, but just think of the fun those rockies will have with your creation.

Since I have got into sand-castling I am no longer experimenting with sand-flavoured cake recipes. There is snow expected this week so I am seeing if I can figure out how to make ice cream. Those ice cream trucks around Blackpool are full of it, so somebody must be liking it. I’ll experiment with a bit of guesswork about what the ingredients might be, and who knows, I might be serving some up at next week’s meeting.

Till then, Rubblers, get sand-castling for your rockies, and post me your own ice cream recipes. Lots of love to you all, and all you rockies out there, keep rocking!

Your chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 25/01/2008

2008-04-06T14:52:00.000+01:00

25/01/2008 by Madge.

Here we are again, Rubble Clubbers, and I hope your little pets are all free of the winter blues. They do get a bit sulky around now, but it’s only natural. When I spot the blues coming(the down-turned corners of the mouth give it away) o I stoke the fire up a bit, wrap them in my magic red blanket, get them all on my knee and rock them all till they go a bit sleepy. It seems to chase the blues away till next time. When they wake up the following Friday thet’re back to their cheerful selves again. Help yourselves to my home baking. It’s full of roughage, fresh from the quarry floor.

From my kitchen window I can see right across to the sea. It’s wild today, so I don’t think I’ll bother going to the cliffs for a rock hunt. When you’ve all gone home I’m off back to bed in fact. It might be that I’ve eaten too many rock cakes, but my tummy is a bit poorly today. I would go and visit Doc. Leaf, M.D., but he’ll be asleep for the winter. You can’t get him to answer the door even in summer, so there’s no chance in winter. No wonder he has a sign up saying ‘Nature cures while-u-wait’, because that’s all his patients get,… a long wait. Good job we Growbies are a hardy lot. I don’t know about you, Rubblers, but I’d rather fix myself up in my own little way anyway. A drop of this, a pinch of that, some power breathing, my magic red blanket and a big roaring fire. I’ll be better in no time.

Well, as nobody else seems to be coming to the meeting (strange!) I think I might have a little snooze for a bit. Help yourselves to anything you want, and chat amongst yourselves. Let your pet rocks mingle with each others to their heart’s content. Just give my rocking chair a gentle push from time to time, would you dears? Nature is curing me as I rock. I’ll be better next week. Your poorly friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 18/01/2008

2008-04-06T14:50:00.000+01:00

18/01/2008 by Madge.

This is Madge Dumpling again, Rubble Clubbers, welcoming you one and all as you pop in and out of my parlour. It’s always nice to see you and your little rockies. I just wish some of you would have something to say for yourselves. Nobody has won the competition yet, but good news! The depressed little rock who was the (obviously unwanted) prize has been adopted by a new member of the Rubble Club, Charlotte, who couldn’t think of a winning answer to the competition, but seemed so sorry for the little pet, she offered me the asking price to take her home. She has named her Prizey Pebble. A good choice, and although she doesn’t know it, she has something very rare and special there. Prizey Pebble is a pet rock with a difference. She has a rune pictured in her little creases. For those of you who know about runes you will know this one carries the gift of time, and some say its presence can slow down time so you can get more done in less time. No wonder I have all the time in the world to spare to hold these meetings, is it? I have a pet rune rock like Prizey Pebble myself. I called it Ticktock and I always put it on top of the clock when I have no time to waste. My Ticktock is brown, though, and Prizey is pure white like an angel.

This is her, beautiful, isn’t she? Can you see the little cross on her tummy? That’s the magic rune.

I must warn you keen pet rock collectors, Rubble Clubbers, the pet rocks have a new owners’ manual now, so those of you who have the old ones, keep them, because one day they will be collectors’ items for sure!

I have just been having a chat with a delightful new member, a fairy called Alicia. She says she isn’t a fairy but I am sure she is. I love it when fairies come. I like to think I might be a bit fairy-like myself, but then, I am a little on the large side. Still, with a name like Dumpling, I have to face facts, I am not a fairy , am I? No.

Hello, Alicia, I was just talking about you, my pretty one. Help yourself to fairy cake. Those tiny pet rock orphans will just fit nicely into your fairy pocket. No, they won’t grow any bigger.

Rubble Clubbers, I have to go now. I’ve got to make some more fairy cakes. Alicia has eaten them all already.
See you next week, Keep those rocks warm!

Your rubbling pal, Madge

Rubble Club 11/01/2008

2008-04-06T14:48:00.000+01:00

11/01/2008 by Madge

Hello Rubble Clubbers,it’s Friday again, and it’s a good job I have got the fire lit because it’s freezing cold here in Rubble Club H.Q..
If it’s cold out there in cyber space, I hope you have got all those little pets of yours in a nice warm place. If you’re any good at knitting, now would be a good time to make them some fluffy little balaclavas. Don’t forget to leave a hole for their eyes and noses though. Winter is traumatic enough for a pet rock without being suffocated and blinded, albeit through kind intentions.
My theory is that this fear of winter(you can see it in their faces at this time of year, can’t you?) is something to do with their ancestral memory, going back to when they were out in the wild with no hope of rescue by the likes of us sentimental pet rock keepers. A sudden frost could shatter them if they’d
just been rained on. All those winter gales blowing rubbish all over them, it must have been terrible. Never mind, we’re here now, Rubblers, aren’t we?
I have made you all a tray of snacks, tuck in! I recommend those piping hot dry sand-roasted cinder puffs. No? What about some soft bonfire toffee. I sprinkled it with some nice crunchy sand to make up for it not being hard enough. As you can see, I am having to be creative all on my own here with the excess sand I keep sweeping up, seeing as none of you have written to me with your ideas for what I can do with it, despite ther being a fabulous prize for the best idea. Still, you know I’m not one to complain, and as it happens, I’m developing quite a taste for it. I’m thinking of writing a creative sand-user’s recipe book in fact. When I get it in print, it might be one of next season’s star prizes to add to that unwanted pet rock who has been packed up and ready to be shipped off to you for several weeks now.

I have to tell you, two lovely new club members joined the Rubble Club yesterday, Mandy and Kirsty. I hope they remember to come to the meeting, but the main thing is that they give their new pets a luxurious spot somewhere out of the cold. We all need that, Rubblers, don’t we?

I’ll see you next week, till then, keep rocking,

Your sand-encrusted friend, Madge Dumpling.

Rubble Club 04/01/2008

2008-04-06T14:47:00.000+01:00

04/01/2008 by Madge.

Welcome, Rubble Clubbers, Madge Dumpling here again. I understand a happy new year has dawned for you and your lucky little rockies. It will be a very lucky year for you, because pet rock owners like us are always lucky. In Undergrowby, where I live, the new year has not yet dawned, and we Growbies are supposed to be still fast asleep in our fluffy winter cocoons till the Undergrowby Drummer bangs the spring drum. It won’t be yet awhile, because the thorn trees are not even in bud yet, and the rubble is covered in frost. I wish I were asleep myself, but it’s Friday.
When Friday comes, my houseful of pet rocks start to get excited, because it’s Rubble Club day, and they start trembling and rattling in anticipation of your visit, Rubblers. So here I am, rattled awake again, fire lit, pet rocks lined up around the table, hoping their new owners will soon arrive and take them away to where the new year has already dawned, (your house.)

I have just had a thought. Perhaps, like me, you are having trouble finding the right button to press to do what you want to do on your computer. I bet there are hundreds of you out there in cyber space who have been trying to send me your entries for the Rubble Club’s Win-a-pet-rock competition, if only you could find the right button to press to get to me. Well, I don’t blame you, and if I were you,I’d just send me an email instead. (madgedumpling@undergrowby.co.uk)I can read emails. It’s easier than wondering which button to press on this page. Just watch, now the entries will come flying in via email. In case you have forgotten what the competition was about, it was simple. You don’t need to be a genius, although I am sure there are geniuses amongst you, because pet rocks attract the intellectual types, like myself and Duncan the Dunce from the Seven Schools. If nobody sends us any ideas, I am sure we Growbies will come up with something ourselves.
The winner of the competition will be the one who sends me the best idea for the use of my spare sand. I am looking for useful things to do with this bucket full of Blackpool sand I swept up from amongst my pile of rubble. It just keeps blowing in from the west, so I may need new ideas for ever. So far I have had none from anyone, and even Duncan can’t think of anything. (Dunces sometimes see the obvious , simple solutions that more complex thinkers like me and you can easily overlook). Don’t get me wrong, Duncan may be a Dunce at some things, but he is brilliant in his own field, sharpening pencils and collecting the chalk for the teachers. So remember, Rubblers, you can now email me with your ideas, and pet rock information in general, and you may be the lucky winner of that beautiful pet rock (who is still very upset that no one is even bothering to enter).

What’s that? There is someone knocking on the door. It’s Ancient Reg from the Soup Kitchen. I’ll make him wait a few minutes while I have a little gossip about him. He runs the soup kitchen, and he’s always on the look-out for new recipes. When someone started him off with a pet rock collection, he used to come to the Rubble Club every Friday, as new owners should. Then the Soup Kitchen got too busy for him to come and he thought he knew enough about pet rock keeping anyway, and became quite neglectful. Apparently, not long ago, Duncan told him how delicious my gravel stew is , and he was as jealous as could be. He has been coming to the meetings and pestering me for the recipe ever since, but I keep pretending I have lost my pen, or my paper, or my glasses, etc. and keeping it from him as long as I can. He’ll have to adopt a lot more pet rocks and enter a few competitions first. He just can’t sleep for guessing what’s in my stew, I bet. I can hear his pet rocks rattling merrily in his pocket. so at least he remembered to bring them along this time. Get ready to meet your relatives, rockies!

Rubble Clubbers, talk amongst yourselves while I see to Ancient Reg. I am not so ill mannered as to tap away on my laptop while the Rubble Clubbing Growbies are here. They are, after all, real, unlike you, who might just be figments of my imagination. Hoping you are real and will prove it by entering the competition , I remain your devoted Chairman, Madge Dumpling.

29/12/2007

2008-04-06T14:45:00.000+01:00

29/12/2007 by Madge.

Nobody came, so I made a party for the rockies. I let them play around in places they never get to go, like on top of the grandfather clock, and on the mantelpiece, to watch some Yuletide pets being born. I expect you were all doing your own Christmas parties, and for all of you who had pet rocks for Christmas, I hope you treasure them well, and put them in a lovely comfy place. I wish you all many happy years together. Remember, they will live much longer than you, so you need to be considering who will accommodate them when you have gone, and warn them now. They’ll be thrilled. It’s always touching to know you are considered special enough to adopt someone’s orphans.

See you next week, Rubblers

Your friend, Madge.

Rubble Club 21/12/2007

2008-04-06T14:41:00.000+01:00

21/12/2007 by Madge.

Hello Rubble Clubbers, this is your little chairman, Madge Dumpling here again. Well, nobody won last week’s prize, and the poor rocky who volunteered to be the prize is highly offended that no one even entered the competition. Never mind, I told her, (yes, it was a girl), those cyber-space rubblers will all be hard at work thinking up an answer to the question (and I repeat it, for her sake), “What is your best idea for things to do with this shovelful of Blackpool sand?”We’ll run the competition for another week, shall we? Come on now, Rubble Clubbers, try harder!

As it happens, Rubble Clubbers, I am having some creative thoughts of my own concerning the sand. If you don’t be quick with your entries, I might have to win the prize myself!

There are some very unusual rockies turning up nowadays on this fabulous west coast. The last cute clutch which I hatched a few days ago are all grey, speckled and rough. Their little eyes are still round and bright though, aaahh! You just never know what will turn up and when. It just depends what the Undergrowby tunneling and building brigade throw on my rubble heap, from wherever they have been digging.

I know I call myself the Quarry-mistress, but I never do any actual quarrying, you know. Between you and me, I am just the minder of the rubble heap, which gets so big sometimes it looks like a quarry. Well, at least I’m honest.
I have my greedy eye on the big coastal rockery on the north promenade here in Blackpool. It would make a very impressive headquarters for the Stone Quarry and the Rubble Club meetings. It’s made of very funny-looking stone, not altogether natural in my expert opinion, but it’s big, and there are lots of pet rock buds all over the place. That latest clutch I was telling you about almost certainly came from there. I wonder what the tunneling brigade are doing digging around there? Perhaps they are building me a new headquarters for Christmas. I wonder if I should book a removal trolley?

Talking of Christmas, are your little pets getting excited? I bet they are. If you mix their grit rations together with a bit of flour and water and a pinch of spice, you can make them a little Christmas pudding (no alcohol please, they like to keep their wits about them at all times!)

Sit them amongst the festivities and they’ll memorize everything that goes on for you. I hope they behave nicely in front of the relatives, like the perfect pets that they are. If they take a shine to someone in particular, they have been known to go crowd surfing right into their pocket, so watch out for that.

I have to point out to you that there are some of those new knobbly rough rockies and their accessories coming up for you to buy, Rubble Clubbers, which will shortly be appearing in the on-line shop.. ..pet rocking chairs, pet rock perches , and baby pet rock beds complete with baby. Don’t worry, I’ll be alerting you to these things as they appear. All you have to do to fine-tune your expertise to cutting-edge standard is to come to the Rubble Club here in my kitchen every Friday.

I’ll be wishing you all the merriest of festivities till we meet again. I’ll be celebrating next Friday, because it’s the only day I’m awake. Till then, I bid you and your pets farewell.

Your jingling, rubbling pal, Madge Dumpling

Rubble Club 14/12/2007

2008-04-06T14:40:00.000+01:00

14/12/2007 by Madge.

Hello there, Rubble Clubbers,
This is Madge Dumpling calling from the stone Quarry, Undergrowby, Blackpool. It’s Friday, according to my alarm clock. I have set it to go off once a week during the winter. We Growbies (theUndergrowby gnomes ) like to sleep during the winter, but, like the hero that I am, for the sake of pet rocks everywhere, I stay awake all day on Fridays. It’s Rubble Club day, you see, and a few of our more dedicated members just can’t sleep for worrying about their pet rocks missing out on their weekly party. It would be a disgrace if I, the Club Chairman, were asleep when they arrived. So here I am awake, fire lit, cakes in the oven, kettle on, and newly-hatched rockies lined up around the hearth. I wonder how many Rubble Clubbers will turn up today?

It’s been a frosty old day here, perfect weather for rock-picking. You see, Rubble Clubbers, on a day like this, pet rocks will cluster themselves nearer to the house for warmth, unlike ordinary rocks. That’s one of the ways of telling them apart. It’s always the ones piled up in the doorway on a frosty morning that are likely to be the budding pet rocks. Today, my rock basket was full before I took two steps out of the door.
My orphanage of little rockies is getting a bit overcrowded, so it’s time you club members took a few off my hands. Christmas is always tinged with sadness for an orphan! Warm-hearted new homes are what we need.

Now I turn to another, slightly puzzling subject. Since Undergrowby moved to Blackpool, I’ve been hearing about a strange human delicacy, sweet and pungent in taste, which the humans call Blackpool Rocks. I am half-expecting this edible rock species to turn up in the quarry, but so far, all I have noticed is a fine layer of sand and an occasional sea shell. Perhaps they are only bred in captivity for food, poor things!

How many things can we think of to do with sand, then? That’s my question for today, Rubble Clubbers. It’s a new medium for me, and as the west wind has delivered a great big bucketful of it , I am guessing it must be useful for something, but for the life of me, I can’t think what. Whoever comes up with the best idea will win this week’s star prize, a brand new pet rock in its own bed (of sand).

Rubble Clubbers, I am beginning to wonder if I am talking to myself here in cyber space. Nobody has replied to me yet, and it’s a whole week since I wrote my first report. Still, how else am I ever going to get you and your rocks all together chatting with each other in a clubby little way if I don’t persevere, so I’ll give it, oooh, five years, so you’ve got plenty of time to pop up in my postbox. Meanwhile, I’m imagining you all here with us, drinking sweet gravel tea and rocking around the rock cake trolley at the Rubble Club H.Q.,(my kitchen), about to tap into my vast store of knowledge about pet rock handling.

Someone is at the door. I bet it’s Duncan the Dunce from the Seven Schools. His rucksack is so full of pet rocks, it’s a wonder he can lift it. Still, he’ll be having another rocky today. He can’t resist. I’m off to welcome him to the meeting.

So, till we meet one day, invisible Rubble Clubbers, I wish you a happy Friday, and to pet rocks everywhere I send my hugs and kisses. Keep rocking,

Your rock solid faithful friend,

Madge Dumpling.