Rubble Club Archives

  Hello, this is Madge Dumpling speaking to you in person from Rubble Club H.Q.,  (my cosy parlour) in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. Now that I have got my own web site, therubbleclub.co.uk, I dare say I am famous enough not to have to tell you that I am Undergrowby’s world-famous pet rock-whisperer, rock cake maker and Chairman of the Rubble Club, but I’d rather be on the safe side. Come in, Rubble Clubbers! Take your pet rocks out of their hamster fluff bedding in your pockets and let them loose for a reunion with their little rocky friends over there on the mantlepiece while we have a little gossip between ourselves.

The novelty buffet is over there on the sideboard. Help yourselves, my darlings! I know it looks like a rock garden, but those little lumps are light-as air spicy gravel tarts with oats and grit, disguised as cute, heavy little boulders. That watering can completing the scene is today’s novelty teapot full of nutricious compost tea. Please remove the sprinkler before you pour it, we don’t want any splashing!

My cosy parlour has been a whirl of activity this week. All my parlour pet rocks had to be removed from the shelves to be weighed and measured and then have their portraits painted for the winter family album. I painted the portraits myself as I do (in my own world-famously unique way) every winter, to pass the time and make them feel special about themselves. I admit, I do make their portraits a little flattering. I never include their blemishes, cracks or crumbly bits. None of us like to be reminded of our failings, after all. They can’t wait for their portraits to be assembled together on the wall, and the ‘Guess-whose-portrait-this-is’  game to begin. If I can work out  way of playing it with you, Rubble Clubbers, I will. Meanwhile, I have painted a picture for you of one side of my parlour, where the pet rocks sit, along the fireplace wall. It is a scene so familiar to you all, here where we sit together once a week, but you have never seen it through my eyes ever before. Goodness knows how it looks through your eyes! Grandad Gray, my web site prefect, is trying to work out how to make it so you can print out my pictures for your own family albums.

I have glued all those fabulous pet rock portraits on to another separate page, so that you can print the page out, cut out the individual pet rocks and arrange them around the shelves on the picture of the parlour. When you are thrilled with your arrangement of the rockies on the parlour picture, no doubt you will want to go out and buy an expensive frame to display it in. You might think I am getting you all excited for nothing, but it could happen some day. It all depends if Grandad Gray can figure it all out. He is getting very old and doddery, so we may have to be patient, Rubble Clubbers. If you try clicking on to the pictures, under the heading of Fun Stuff, and nothing happens, you will know he has still not figured it out, but you can all be getting on with buying your expensive frames, ready for when the fun begins. In case any of you have any hints and tips for Grandad Gray in his struggle, please send them directly to me and he will read them while he is snooping through my fascinating mailbag, as he does every day. But who could blame him? My penpals are truly inspirational and he, apparently, has none of his own!

Speaking of mail, I have had none this week. I hope you and your little pets are all well, Rubblers, and my good thoughts are with you, wherever you are. The schools have been on holiday this week and the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, has been somewhat busier than usual, selling mostly Friendship Boots, but not many Rubble Clubbers have stepped across the threshold, judging from the lack of interest in pet rocks and their(now) thousands of accessories. I think I need to get Grandad Gray to put some pet rocks in his on-line store on the Magic Wand Factory website, once he has solved the riddle of the Fun Stuff for me. Perhaps when the Cyber Space people see the pet rocks’ cute little faces, they will be unable to resist them. We can only hope so, because soon it will be spring, when the pet rock population always explodes, and my shelves are already crammed to bursting point. Soon, if all else fails, I will have to get my basket and go walking down Blackpool Promenade shouting “Get your pet rocks here!” The trouble is, no matter how loud I shout, no one ever takes any notice of me. It’s as though I were invisible!

As I am sitting here in the parlour with my magic laptop, typing away the minutes of the meeting, a message has just come in that Granny Gray, my shop assistant at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, has just sold  several pet rocks, an assortment of hats and a pet rock toilet to one of her favourite Rubble Club members who has not been in for a while! You see, Rubble Clubbers, how powerful is the positive mind, especially when accompanied by the Dumpling magic! We Rubble Clubbers are connected by invisible threads of friendship and find ourselves spookily in the right place at the right time for each other’s needs, (well, I suppose it’s for my needs isn’t it?),( but you know me,  I live for the needs of pet rocks everywhere).

Now, Rubble Clubbers, it’s time to check up on how Grandad Gray is progressing with the web-site, so when you have finished eating, drinking and being merry, you can test the little chat site he is making so you can all talk to each other and compare pet rock-keeping tips, personal secrets, etc.. In the Rubble Club, after all, you never know who you might meet, that’s if the chat site works. There’s only one way to find out, follow me through this secret doorway to the Rubble Club’s new extension, and see if you can find it.

Till next week, I remain your trusty friend and chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling, Quarrymistress, Club Chairman and world-famous pet rock expert, welcoming you once again to my cosy little parlour in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. This week I notice that there are lots of lovely (and already truly devoted) new members sitting there on the ront row with their well-groomed pet rocks wearing their nice new hats, holding their picnic baskets, reading books and flowers. Squeeze yourselves in on the couch between the prefects(with their poor hatless little pets). Don’t be shy, newcomers. The prefects have always had the couch to themselves, but I think that new members who have braved the winter to come to the Rubble Club deserve a treat, I’m sure you will agree, prefects. Move along now prefects, stop scowling and let them in!
Right, is everybody comfy? I have to report on my mailbag before we get down to business. Linda from Kilmarnoch, thank you for your words of support. The cake department is doing very well. We sold two cakes this week. It’s lucky they last for years before they go stale. The new bookshop and flowershop have been well-received and the hat shop is an absolute triumph. We sold one book entitled “Cold Water Attack…What to Do.” and “Pet Rock Love Potions” both by myself, Madge D. I like to think of my words of wisdom being out there in book form, helping.
The flower department sold several single red roses and bouquets of flowers in the Valentine’s Day rush. I am gratified to know that those blooms, though tiny, will still be blooming when their recipients are old and grey, reminding them how loved they were on Valentine’s Day in 2009.
Linda, why on earth didn’t you get on that coach and come to Blackpool? The weather has been sunny and delightful all week and Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, is missing you. The coaches are running merrily again from scotland to Blackpool and vice-versa, so perhaps I will be over to see you soon, researching my next bedtime story. I am glad you liked the last one as much as my pet rockies, especially the girls. There is another one on the way, especially for the boys, called ‘Alf the Elf gets Stinky’, so watch out for it on the Rubble Club website.
Linedancer, I am glad you are well and I am pleased that your kindness, people-talents and super efficient clerical skills are not going to waste any more. Face it, you were born to be a happy Blackpool holidayland receptionist, and in these up and coming times for the Blackpool holiday trade, this is no time to hide your light under a bushel just because you can’t walk. I have told Doc Leaf about your request for a regular report, but he just says “If it isn’t broken, why fix it?” I think he means he needs to know what’s wrong before he can advise on it. So, Rubble Clubbers, if there is anything specific for him to deal with, just let me know what ailments you or your pet rocks have.(I like to be the first with the gossip.) If he gets enough requests, I will see about giving him a spot on my web site, as long as he adopts at least one pet rock a week. Otherwise, though he may know an odd thing or two, he is not as world-famous as me so why should I share my star-spangled limelight with him.
And now on to business. I have had a wonderful discovery this week which will contribute greatly to the welfare, hopes and dreams of pet rocks world-wide,….hamster bedding.  Granny Gray is babysitting for her grand-daughter’s hamster and I have just noticed some new fluffy hamster bedding in his cage, which is the perfect thing for pet rock winter bedding. It is pretty and warm. Perhaps it is not as comfy as their usual grit and sand bedding, but it is definitely warmer, and a pinch or two of grit and sand can be sprinkled on top for that familiar crunchy comfort factor.All my pet rock beds are now full of fluff and Granny Gay will just have to go to the pet shop and buy some more for the hamster. He is spoilt anyway.
To test my new discovery I took a basket full of rockies (in their fluff-lined winter hats and fluff-lined beds) in my basket for walk along Blackpool Promenade. It was not raining but it was freezing cold.(i know I always say the sun always shines in Blackpool, but this was night time, and that’s different. It is allowed to be cold and nasty at night. Before I set off I put some hamster fluff under my own hat, and apart from keeping me warm, it poked out rather fetchingly, I thought, around the brim. The rockies never shivered once as we strolled along.
To test the fluff even further I popped into the ice skating rink in the Pleasure Beach, where I am well known and never have to pay. They have made me my own entrance through the back door of the snack counter. I often go there for the ice therapy in the summer to cool off my overheated rockies when they are suffering from those frequent Blackpool heatwaves. There is a big ice arena and a small one. I like the small one which was designed, I expect, for the use of gnomes and their pet rocks, though the humans will try to cram themselves on to it to get in our way. They wear boots with metal blades under them just to make it harder to stay upright. I have no need for those silly boots. I can fall over quite successfully in my ordinary old shoes. Unselfishly, every time I go, I demonstrate my falling-over technique for the humans but still they cannot master it. They will just have to stick to their wobbly blades. I am quite a triumph on the ice. I slide around and fall over again and again with my overheated, thrill-seeking rockies in my pocket. They love it when I go bump and they all crash into each other. If the ice were not so wet and slushy I would put them down directly on it, but we all know they do not like getting wet and cold at the same time, so we have to protect them.
I never dreamed I would ever try to do what I did this week, thanks to the hamster bedding. I put them down onto the ice in their fluffy beds and (holding on to the edge for my own safety) gave them a motherly kick to send them smoothly skidding across the ice. From a distance they looked like fluffy ducklings swimming on a pond for the first time. I was as proud as any mother duck could ever be. Their rocky little cheeks went pinker and pinker with the thrill of it, but they never shivered once. They skidded so far that I could not reach them without letting go of the edge. I could see they were starting to panic, what with all those sharp ice skates whizzing past them at great speed.  I had to crawl out on my hands and knees, braving the ice, to get to them….. I know,… I do deserve a medal. To think there could ever be pet rock ice skaters? Thank to the hamster bedding, a new, unexpected doorway to excellence has opened for them. I am now designing fluff-lined pet rock sledges emblazened with warning messages “Beware, Pet Rocks on the Ice.” “Humans please remove your boots.” etc, etc.
My husband Malcolm slept through Valentine’s Day, so I got no Valentines again this yeasr. The pet rocks, however, had a fine time swopping tiny heart-shaped oaty rock cakes. Sadly for the less attractive of them, many of the oaty hearts were about to go to the more attractive ones, so I intervened and suggested they gave them to me instead, then nobody would be disappointed. Love, after all, makes even their little world go round, and we an’t be having any hearts broken. With me in control, none of them went without a taste of a Valentine cake. I ate most of them, but I crumbled up a couple and shared out the crumbs between all the rockies, who felt very loved indeed.
And now I have to go, Rubblers. I have so much work to do.Help yourselves to the mis-shaped, crisp-dried Valentine cakes and cold Love Potion tea. Until next week, then, I remain your faithful friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

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.

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.