Rubble Club Archives

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.

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.

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.

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.