Rubble Club Archives

Hello, Rubble Clubbers and welcome to my doorway, all of you, to this week’s meeting of like-minded pet rock owners. It is such a lovely warm, sunny day that I have spread the crunchy-rock-cakeylicious buffet outdoors for a change. There are plenty of big boulders for you to sit on, and broken bricks for your little pets. Please keep an eye on them, however, because they are a little too well-camouflaged for comfort here in the rubble, and accidents can easily happen at parties when people get giddy from too much gravel tea. I would never forgive myself if a little rocky got lost forever in my own rubble pile.

First item on the agenda,..is the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnoch came up with another good idea to prolong the agony of the lonely chat room, where nobody came to chat. She suggested that, as I am such a busy, hard-working chairman but not a very successful chatter, Grandad Gray might be put in charge of sitting in the chat room, minding it in case someone should call in for a chat. Well, let me tell you that sadly, Grandad Gray is very very old and he likes to have frequent  nods, especially when he is bored. He would be asleep in no time in that chat room, and as no one would see him, it would be as if the room were empty as usual, so, thank you for your undying enthusiasm Linda, but the chat room has to close for the foreseeable future due to lack of visitors, and to save your kind self from further disappointments. You deserve to have a more rewarding chatting experience than we at the Rubble Club chat room can give you. Your printing idea has been put before Grandad Gray who is having a deep think about it.

Jessica, Justin, Fred and Squishy, thank you for your lovely letter from around the world, wherever you are at the moment. Back home in Australia? Fred and Squishy are very lucky little pet rocks indeed to have such an adventure. I am sure they will want for nothing in your keeping, as long as you remember to put Fred and Squishy on your laptop where they can see my face as you visit the Rubble Club here in cyber space every week. It will reassure them to see my familiar face still smiling at them on the screen. Without that, home sickness would probably set in, mark my words, especially in a foreign country with all those foreign rocks outnumbering them everywhere. At least you had the wisdom to buy two pet rocks and not just one. They will always have each other for support, won’t they, and dozens more friends will be joining them next time you come back to England, I expect?

I have brought you out in the garden today for good reason, Rubblers.  I want you to see something important. I have been busy setting out rock plants here and there amongst the rubble to demonstrate how to make a nice rock garden for your little pets to play outdoors without getting lost, as they would in long grass and tall flowers. For a while now I have been helping myself to nice tiny little rock plants from here and there on my travels, wherever they are plentiful, and no one would miss a handful if they should disappear in the dead of night . I popped them in my basket and brought them home to the Stone Quarry. It took no time at all to poke them into the spaces between the rubble, and lo and behold…a rock garden!

As you can see, Rubblers, since I live in the Stone Quarry it is mt duty to  have a vast collection of rock samples outside my back door.  I am sure many of you rock lovers you will have a rock pile too.  As  Quarrymistress, I admit I have a certain stylish way with a rock pile. I can’t help it, it is in my nature. The neighbours  are desperately jealous of my rock collection, but when I catch them scowling at it in envy, they pretend they are scowling because they think it is an eyesore. Now that I have planted a few rock plants in it they have to agree it is simply a rock garden, and as such, is nothing out of the ordinary. If you have jealous neighbours, you could try it. It is my top tip for the week.

And with that I must leave you sitting here in the Blackpool sunshine, crunching away at the buffet while I get on with my endless list of chores. I have now got to add water-collecting and plant-watering to my list. It’s a good job I am a humble little martyr with super-human powers. I shall return again next week and until then I remain your faithful friend and dutiful chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Hello Rubble Clubbers and welcome! This is your chairman and friend, Madge Dumpling once again, serving the buffet and hosting the meeting on behalf of pet rock-friendly creatures everywhere (who, until recently were mainly Undergrowby gnomes, but now includes one or two humans, a budgie, some minnows and a hamster). Lucky that the walls of my little rubble-clad parlour are easily knocked down and infinitely extendable. You will all fit in nicely, come what may.

I have a confession to make, Rubble Clubbers. I have made a mess. It’s about that chat page, somewhere on this web site. I promised to be there every night between six and seven but everything has gone wrong since I made that promise. Linda from Kilmarnoch and her daughter Debz have been there faithfully, waiting for someone to turn up and no one else turned up, ( including myself) most days. Perhaps there is no need for it. Linda and Debz cannot be expected to keep it going alone for ever, no matter how much of that famous and brave Scottish backbone they have. Debz has been a famous footballer in the Kilmarnoch team in her time and can keep going and going as footballers(and squirrels) do, against all odds. But it’s not fair, and we should put a stop to it. They have their knitting to do, after all, and we should not take liberties with their good nature.

So, if any of you would like to suggest another more reliable chatting place where you can meet up and swap emails, or if you want to allow me to display your email addresses, so you can get in touch with each other, just let me know. Grandad Gray never publishes email addresses in case you value your privacy, but he can publish them if you like.  As for myself, if I can not be the best and most reliable at anything, I would rather not start it, and I have been a total failure as a chatter. I have failed and I retire from the job. I am returning to my former full time job of pet rock whispering, hatching new pet rock specimens and being a general world-famous invisible personality.

It has been Mother’s Day and the Blackpool weather has been beautiful as usual. The visitors and their mothers have been calling in at the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road choosing their bits and bobs, but interestingly, hardly any pet rocks have been sold. The pet rocks, you see, have been refusing to leave the shelves  this week because they have been planning a surprise Mother’s Day party for me. They staged one of their theatrical soap opera performances for me. It was about a crazy, and strangely dozy pet rock family. They are so talented. It was hilarious! Some of them, I know,  are already world-famous rock stars in their own right, thanks to my coaching. Before you ask, as I am their sole agent, I cannot afford to release  them for adoption. Sorry. Even the (as yet) unknowns amongst them were determined to get in on the act, on the chorus line. They, on the other hand, are quite dispensable and are now back on sale in the shop.

Anyway, it was a triumphant performance and being attuned to their silent little voices, I could follow the script, which I wrote myself, but this time it was different. They sounded like they were squeaking out loud in some foreign language but no, it was a wildlife programme about squirrels on Granny Gray’s telly in the background, which made the plot even more realistic, multi-layered and  interesting. Ah, it was a good day but now it is over, most of them,( fame-hungry), will be itching to get adopted by some film producer, who may recognise their hidden talents, (or not, if they are not born for fame).

On to the mailbag. Linedancer, my head prefect and Linda and Debz from Kilmarnoch, you are keeping me delightfully posted when everyone else fails to do so and expects me to read their minds. I sometimes wonder if perhaps there are no humans out there in my cyberspace parlour except the three of you. If that is the case, we can confidently know that we hold all the luck-bringing rock-power of the Rubble Club between just us. Let’s all make a wish for the week and see how well it works. If it does not work immediately, we can assume that there are many more others out there than we know, diluting the rock-magic power. Either way, it’s good because we are not greedy, are we, Rubblers? Help yourselves to the oaty, wind-dried, crunchy, rubblicious buffet while you contemplate how powerful you are feeling. Tuck in! Don’t be shy.

Now, it is my duty to issue a warning to all rabbits out there in cyber space. Last night a fox was seen running along the back alley behind the Magic Wand Factory, no doubt looking for a forest, where foxes belong, but he will not be lucky in these parts. The gardens are tiny. Anyway, like the dutiful wildlife lover that I am, I decided to take action. I have stuck a note on the back gate with directions to Stanley Park in case he should pass this way again, along with a crunchy little snack in case he is hungry. I am, however, worried for my friends, the rabbits in the Jubilee Gardens on the Promenade. They are very fond of my leftover rock cakes, which I spread all over the lawns for them. Jubilee Gardens  is not far from where the fox was seen, and no doubt he would have smelt the rock cakes aroma in the air. It is a smell that makes anyone’s mouth water, as you know, Rubblers, so I am fearful that he might be lured to the rabbits’ parlour in search of one. Mistaking it for a rock cake, he might accidentally bite one of the rabbits in the dark by mistake. If he is very hungry, he might have swallowed a rabbit whole before he realises it is not a rock cake. I have known of  that happening  before.

It is late in the day now, Rubble Clubbers so I had better go out and watch for the fox. I shall stand guard outside the rabbit warren with my map book and directions to Stanley Park and a nice big picnic basket full of specially acquired Fox’s biscuits for the fox. It is my self-appointed duty in the rabbits’ hour of need, so for now, I am taking my leave of you and wishing all your weekly wishes come true before we meet again next week. Till then I remain your true friend and devoted chairman, Madge Dumpling.

Welcome one and all to my snug little parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. This is Madge Dumpling speaking. I am (for the information of newcomers) the Chairman of the fabulous Rubble Club of Undergrowby. Although I am invisible to most humans, thanks to my magic laptop I am now a famous personality, known world-wide for my unique pet rock hatching techniques, my pet rock training and handling skills and my endless wisdom on all matters to do with pet rocks. If you are needing information about anything to do with the management of your pet rocks, you have come to the right place. Just ask. I’ll know the answer. It’s my job. While you are thinking up some clever questions, help yourselves to rock cakes and a cup of my speciality tea from the sideboard over there. If you can guess the crunchy ingredients in today’s rock cakes correctly, I will send you a fabulous little prize.

Last week I announced that my computer expert, Grandad Gray, would be putting the pet rocks on sale on the Magic Wand Factory website. Well it turns out that he has had too much of a struggle with his computer to finish the job, and they are still not on sale! I only found out when I heard Granny Gray on the phone to a nice little Rubble Clubber who was wondering where they were because she wanted to order some, and Grandad Gray piped up in the background that they were not on the website yet. You can imagine how much I shouted at him to get it sorted out immediately! I shall be poking him in the ankle with my umbrella every few minutes till he does what he is told.

Trust me, Rubble Clubbers (and especially that nice little one who rang up especially about it) they will soon be appearing on the Magic Wand Factory website shop. In the meantime, if you know what you want, telephone Granny Gray on 01253 353800 and have a little chat. Do you want an adult rock? Male or female? What colour? An orphan, a plate of rock cakes, pies, jam tarts, pizza, a hat, a book, a bed and bowl? A tiny bunch of flowers? What? The postage is usually about £1.50, whatever you get, unless it’s very big, so bear that in mind. Granny Gray will tell you what there is and how much the bits and bobs are and I have trained her to be very patient and kind, so don’t think you will be made to feel like a pest. It’s her job, and she is very lucky to have it! You will need a name, address and a credit card number ready for her.

Right, on to the postbag. Linedancer, my head prefect, wake up, dear, and pay attention. I see you find my snug, gritty blankets very cosy. Yes I know, they are, but not even they can help me to sleep through the winter. You are different. With a little training, and a competition blanket knitted specially for you, I think you could become one of those prize-winning winter sleepers of whom I am very jealous. I may enter you in next year’s sleeping competitions on behalf of the Rubble Club.   Can I wake you up for a few minutes while I present you with a nice cup of spiced gravel tea and a red hot rock cake, straight from the fire. It’s your prize for being dutiful enough to write letters to me, even in your sleep. I can always depend on you and Linda from Kilmarnoch to keep me amused. You are both very charming and funny and I think you should be on the stage together, amusing the world with your pet rock-keeper’s anecdotes, your Blackpool stories, knitting experiences, cocktails and oatcake recipes. Linda, prize-winning knitter and supplier of oats to the Rubble Club, who is rapidy becoming a firm favourite for deputy head-prefect,  has come up with a good idea. The chat site needs an official time of day for people to meet, because Rubble Clubbers, although there are hundreds of you,  you are obviously busy people and keep missing each other because, sadly, you tune in to the Rubble Club at different times.

I feel it is therefore my duty to be present on the chat site for a week or two at a set time, so no one feels alone. How about six o’clock till seven o’clock at night, every night, but especially on a Friday, the official Rubble Club day? Does anyone have any free time then? If not then, whatever other time you please, if you will only suggest it. I am only your Chairman, not the boss of the world, and I aim only to serve, in any way I can,  in the best interest of pet rocks and their owners wherever they are. You Rubble Clubbers can exchange email addresses at least, with each other, and who knows, your pet rocks may bring you together with a new friend for life, and you might get your pet rocks invited to jolly parties and sleepovers at their house. It can only be good for everyone because pet rock owners, like their little pets, are all highly intelligent, thoughtful and kind. It’s high time you all met each other. Grandad Gray always removes your email addresses from your letters in case you, like him, value your privacy.

Has anyone had any luck downloading the backdrop pictures of my parlour, the pet rocks and the useful pet rock world signboards from my web site? If they are of no use to you there is no point in my thinking anything else up for you to download free of charge. I will get Grandad Gray, who knows which buttons to press to get the job done, to print them out and sell them in the shop instead. Come what may, you will have them in some form, somehow, or my name is not Madge Dumpling.

I am pleased to announce that there has been a rush of demand for orphan pet rocks this week. I am hoping they are  gifts for nice deserving mothers next weekend on Mothers Day, because those orphans have been praying for a mother to come along and adopt them. That’s what orphans do. If you are one of those mothers, coming along to the Rubble Club for the very first time, congratulations! You have been selected from hundreds of other mothers because of your kindness, devotion and likelihood of attending the meetings every week without fail. And here you are, proving you are indeed worthy of being a mother to that new little rocky of yours. From now on you can adopt as many more orphans as you can fit on your sideboard or windowsill. If anyone queries it when you try to order hundreds more, just mention my name(Madge Dumpling) and Granny Gray will have to let you buy them, plus a little free gift from myself.

And now a word of advice for all of you experiencing difficulties with pet rocks falling off their perches onto the floor…it is due to a seasonal disorder, called the late winter twitch.  As winter draws to an end and the Growbies are ever nearer  to coming out of the long winter sleep, the pet rocks, ever sensitive, start to get excited. They love company, sunshine and picnics on the beach, and winter is a long, dark, damp, lonely, house-bound  season for us all. Those last weeks start to drag, especially in Blackpool, where it is sunnier than everywhere else, and you can hardly believe it is winter at all. And yet, the buds on the blackthorn, who always know exactly when spring has officially arrived, and therefore have the last word on when winter has ended, still refuse to open, even in Blackpool.  When a pet rock, who has no legs to carry him,  has been ready for a picnic on the beach for several weeks and nobody will take him, he gets so frustrated he cannot help  fidgeting and twitching to the point of toppling of his perch sometimes. My floor , at this time of the year, is often littered with pet rocks who have twitched themselves off the windowsill in the night. There is no cure, but to show that you are most sympathetic to their plight, I recommend a little kiss and a pat on the head while promising your little rocky it will soon be over.(In fact, the cruel truth is,  sometimes the condition can go on and on well into the spring).  Placing the sufferers under a lamp and providing a hot water bottle may ease the symptoms. By way of pevention of injury, place cushions on the floor when you go to bed, or leave the lamp on. If you are one of the lucky ones your pet rocks may be the dozy kind, who are unaffected by the twitch, so no action will have to be taken.

Now that I have promised to be on duty at the chat room at six o’clock, I had better go and get my other jobs done quickly. There will be no time for specimen collecting today, no matter how brightly the sun is shining.  I have to gather some fresh feathers for in my hat and polish my handbag, so I look my best in case anyone sees me in the chat room. If my friends the pigeons from the Promenade hear about the chat room they will be following me there, listening in and reading your messages over my shoulder. We shall be the centre of attention, Rubble Clubbers, so everyone be looking your best with your pet rocks lined up nearby where they can see the magic computer screen. Do not underestimate your little rockies. They can read. They were born reading in fact, and will memorize everything for you in case you need to be reminded what was said, by whom and when. If only you can learn to read their minds you will be well-informed.

Of I go then, and I will return next week to meet with you all here at the Rubble Club. Until then I remain your devoted chairman and sincere friend, Madge Dumpling.

Welcome back, Rubble Clubbers, to Pet Rock H.Q., my little parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby, not too far from the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. The sun has been shining all day,( as you would, of course, expect from sunny  Blackpool), so I have been out and about on a tour of inspection, collecting new rock specimens washed in on the tide.

I am delighted to report that Blackpool has been invaded by coach parties full of happy Rubble Clubbing Linedancers, and many of them have been strolling along Dickson Road in between dances, wearing their cowboy hats and searching for pet rocks. Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, loves linedancers because they are friendly creatures, and although she has never been linedancing herself, she pretends she knows all about it, so she can have a good old gossip with them while they decide which pet rock they are having this time.

Next time I go invisibly linedancing in one of those cosy seafront hotels, I will pick up a stray cowboy hat for her so she will look a bit more convincing. I wonder if I can fit one in that nice little blue knitted bag Linda from Kilmarnoch sent me a while ago? Did you knit it for me yourself, Linda? It is a very useful bag indeed, and when it is not hanging over my shoulder full of rock samples, stale rock cakes for my friends, the pigeons, etc., I like to wear it on my head on top of my yellow pointed hat a disguise. If only you could see me in it walking along the promenade in disguise you would swear I was a cosy blue teapot!

Thank you for many lovely chatty letters, Rubblers. Well done, Linedancer, for finding the right buttons to open the door to my postbox! Have you been dancing this week with the hundreds of visiting linedancers? Oh no, your poorly ankle wll be putting a stop to that, won’t it? I hope you are doing your exercises as dutifully as you do everything else.

Linda from Kilmarnoch, well done for keeping your hands off that extraordinarily wild patch of land of yours. You are a very unusual human. It is just a matter of time before some of the bravest, most daring young Growbies will be on that bus in search of your weedy garden and aged outdoor pet rockery. Then, when they have plotted it on the map and dug a long, long tunnel from here to there, they will be moving in with you. By that time they will of course no longer be young, but they will still be keen. Thanks for the warm invitation, Linda.

Now, tell me which of you have figured out how to download and print out the nice free picture of my parlour? Grandad Gray keeps changing things to try to make it work, so if any of you have been successful, I would be delighted to be told. There are three pictures altogether. First, there is that picture of my cosy parlour with the shelves and mantlepiece deliberately left empty, ready for you to fill them up with …you’ve guessed it…pet rocks. If, sadly, you have no pet rock pictures of your own, do not despair, you will find them on the next picture of gorgeous assorted pet rocks for you to cut out and blu-tak on to the empty shelves in the parlour.

The third picture is a collection of signs and placards copied from my very own sign-written collection, drawn out with my seagull’s feather quill pen and perfect for decorating your pet rock worlds. They will entertain your pet rocks, perk them up and give them a sense of what’s going on where. You will need to cut them out and stiffen them somehow if you want them to look good. If you can’t get them to print out,  Grandad Gray will have to have another think about it. Let me know how you go on, Rubblers. Devoted teamwork is what I have come to expect from you all, and this, Rubblers, is no time to let me down. Between us we can succeed at anything as long as it is for the benefit of our rocky litle pals.

I would also like to know if anyone has managed to get on the chat page to chat with anyone. Grandad Gray mentioned it, but every time I ask him to show it to me he says he doesn’t know if it works and he is too busy with the pictures to bother with me and my need to chat. It is very unsatisfactory for  a perfectionist like myself, but all this will pass, I know, Rubble Clubbers, and the day will soon dawn when it is all working beautifully. Pet rock owners, members of the Rubble Club, one and all, will be drawn together, chatting in friendship with other lovely pet rock owners all over the world, and pet rocks (and their owners,) will be getting invited to each others’ homes for parties, holidays, etc.. I can’t wait.

I must remind you all that soon it will be Mother’s Day, and you know what every mother needs in the way of a little treat on Mother’s Day morning? Yes, that’s right, lots of new pet rocks. I have been lining the pet rocks up in groups and taking their photos this week, ready for Grandad Gray to put them up for sale for the first time on the Magic Wand Factory website, so make sure you have a look at them and tell everyone you know to order some for their mothers before it’s too late. If you mention my name, Madge Dumpling from the Rubble Club, when you place an order I will put a little free gift in with your order from me to you. You know by now, after all, how much I love the sound of my own name, Rubblers.

In a few weeks, when the first flower bud opens on the blackthorn tree and the blackbird sings that old hedgerow favourite,”Come nest with me now, my lovely”,  the rest of the Growbies in the hidden land of Undergrowby will be waking up from the long winter sleep and we will no longer be alone in the parlour, Rubble Clubbers. Other Growbies will be here sharing our delicious grit-strewn buffet with us. My husband Malcolm will be waking up too, and I will be getting him to start the spring cleaning straight away, before the neighbours have done theirs, and even before he has his first bite of rock cake and his first sip of gravel tea. This Stone Quarry Cottage is a complete tip, isn’t it, Rubblers?  I would be getting on with cleaning it myself but it is, after all, Malcolm’s job, and everyone knows I have too much pet rock whispering, cake making and gadding about to do, to be wasting my world-famous expertise on housework. Oh yes, it’s only fair. Malcolm only has his bit of full-time quarrying to do, so he has all the time in the world on his hands.

I would like to announce that Auntie Hatty has now got some new pet rock handbags for sale in her pet rock hat shop on the top shelf of the sideboard in the Magic Wand Factory Shop.  Well, just because pet rocks have no hands doesn’t mean they can’t have a handbag blu-tacked to their sides. If you want one but can’t find them because they are so small, ask Granny Gray where they are. She will have moved them to a dark corner to save them for her little favourites, John, Jacob, Joe, Louis, Emma and Nadine, and others too numerous to mention, but as I have told her again and again, shopkeepers are not allowed to have favourites.

The parlour feels a bit chilly now, Rubble Clubbers, and I will have to go and put some sticks on the fire to warm the place up, like the kind hostess that I am. Meanwhile, snuggle together under the blankets for warmth. I have sprinkled some nice handfuls of sharp grit around in my blankets for that extra homely touch of scratchiness. Well, blankets can be so itchy can’t they? Not mine. It’s one of my little home-making tips which I offer you free of charge. I will see if I can remember any more tips for next week, but for now I must leave you, remaining as ever your good friend and hard-working chairman, Madge Dumpling.

  Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is your chairman, Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock expert welcoming you all once again to my cosy underground parlour, glowing fire and rock-cake buffet here at the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby, not too far from the Magic Wand Factory shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. I cannot be more precise about my wherebouts because(mystifyingly) to most humans, Undergrowby is invisible and so am I. Its borders, boundaries and landmarks are always changing in these uncertain times. Thank goodness for my magic laptop, without which, shout though I may, you would never be able to hear my expert hints and tips and you would be left guessing for ever about the true nature and needs of your pet rocks. I know this for sure because many a time I have been sitting on my stool next to a bench full of holiday-makers on Blackpool Promenade and whenever I have tried to join in their converations they have ignored me completely as if I were not there. Only my friends the pigeons, some little children and some drunk people have ever had a proper chat with me. Thank goodness for Granny and Grandad Gray, my shop-keepers, who are gnome-friendly and interactive thanks to spending many years living in the middle of nowhere, right next door to a previous Undergrowby settlement.

They are also very grateful for what we have taught them about how to set up their little pottery business, Undergrowby-fashion. Without us Growbies they would be stuck in the middle of nowhere,  foolishly trying to grow their own vegetables in the middle of our gnome village, which they insisted was their garden. They were mistaken, it was our garden! We had only been living there for a few years. We were forced to move from the disused limestone quarry (where we had lived for hundreds of years) when it was demolished to make way for a rubbish dump. This plot, attached to an old derelict school, was the only weedy garden fit for gnomely habitation for miles around.It was a bit small and we would be overcrowded, but it would have to do.

It was a major upheaval, moving home, digging new tunnels, building new houses, all in keeping with the nine directions of the ancient layout of the map of Undergrowby. We had just got it right, and planted it out with vast tracts of nettles and brambles when this new family moved in and decide to renovate the old school and turn the weedy garden into a vegetable plot. We were exhausted from having to keep removing the lettuces, etc. and replacing them with our original ancient Undergrowby weeds, so much so that we held a meeting of the elders. Luckily, one of the old ones had a plan. They decided to employ a magical practice used by the Wise Hermit of the Rocky Headlands to “open eyes that could not see.”

This was how it went. A very old theatrical toad was trained to follow the foolish old gardening couple around in the garden, pretending that it was their friend, as toads do. They called it Toby, (to which it obligingly answered, although it was actually called Michael). Once they had become attached to the toad we ordered it to get in the way of the spade when they were digging, and then pretend to be injured. Fake blood was made from hawthorn berries and everything! From that day, every time they appeared with the spade the toad would limp over to them and try to get in the way of the spade  again and again. Eventually, conscience-stricken and full of compassion for their toady little friend, the old couple gave up digging. The moment they put down the spade the magic came into being and their eyes opened. It was the compassion for the toad that did it, apparently. One minute they were digging up a vegetable plot, and the next, with their eyes opened they realised they were in the middle of Undergrowby and they were surrounded by an audience of gnomes giving the toad a round of applause for his success.

From that moment the old couple were adopted by the gnomes and taught pottery skills in exchange for being left in peace. All us Growbies have pottery skills, due to the surplus of clay and rubble left over from digging the underground tunnel networks of Undergrowby. Waste not, want not. We all have our own pottery-making specialities. Wanderella Windmeddler makes magic wands. I make accessories for my pet rocks. May Greenbottle, the herbal potion-maker, makes stone bottles and jars, etc., etc.. We all got together to help the old couple to start a little pottery shop on the edge of Undergrowby. It was a triumph, but  and now we have all moved to Blackpool so we can have more room build another Undergrowby, Undergrowby-by-the-Sea.

Why did we choose Blackpool? Well, Granny Gray was born here and when we lived in the middle of the old weed patch, during the bonfire parties she used to tell us Growbies stories of the olden days in Blackpool, with the sun setting over the sea, the donkey rides,the tower, the theatres, shops, ice cream carts, chip shops, sandcastles, cafes, pigeons and seagulls and we thought it sounded like Seventh Heaven, but better.

Undergrowby was getting more and more overcrowded in that little garden, and we had to find a new site. The Wise Hermit consulted the Map of Mysteries and he proclaimed it was to be in the west, by the sea, where a giant metal tower stood. It was, in short, Blackpool, so here we are, and the tunnel digging couldn’t be easier through the sand below the cellar of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road. Gynn Gardens round the corner is being planted with a few wild specimens here and there, and if we find some weedy gardens round about with compassionate owners, Undergrowby has all the room in the world to grow and thrive. If you see a large toad crawling around in your garden, it may be Michael on a theatrical mission. You could be one of the next to have your eyes opened and be able to see Growbies everywhere. I wonder what kind of shop you will be having?

On to the mailbag…Debz, hurray, you have worked out how to press the right buttons to talk to me again. I am looking forward to seeing you very soon. And Linedancer, Granny Gray tells me you came to the shop in person to lodge an official complaint about Doc Leaf’s rudeness in response to her request for a regular health and fitness feature. Well, Linedancer, I have a confession to make. It was me, pretending to be Doc Leaf, who was rude. Doc Leaf is, of course, fast asleep, like all the other Growbies except for me and Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, and so I made it all up. I do not get on very well with him, you see, because he can’t be bothered to come to the Rubble Club, and to think I would have to invite him to share in my limelight here on my website, well it was more than I could bear. Please do not ask him. He is so full of himself.  Perhaps Wanderella Windmeddler will be foolish enough to let him share her website if you tackle her when she is in the groggy stages of waking up.

And now I must leave you Rubblers. Come on, you can eat a bit more before you go. There’s lots more in the pantry. Debz from Kilmarnoch, thank you for your lovely Scottish generosity, offering me me an infinite lifetime supply of oats for my rock cakes. However, the Rubble Clubbers have tiny appetites so I have enough oaty ingredients for the next year at least, so you can save your money for the fast-approaching Blackpool cocktail parties, and the promised adoption of new orphan pet rocks.

Rubble Clubbers, if you want to meet my dutiful and knowlegeable head prefect, Linedancer, book a room at the delightful Parisien Hotel on the North Promenade. Glue your pet rock to your shoulder and she will no doubt recognise you and introduce herself, but if all else fails, ask the receptionist for information regarding her whereabouts.

I hope you are reading my bedtime stories to your little pets. They will recognise them instantly and remind them of the olden days at the Stone Quarry. I have been suffering from writer’s cramp but when I have recovered I will write out the next one in my best typing. (I have given up with the seagull’s feather quill pen because of the writer’s cramp). Until next week, then, I remain your trusty chairman and cramped-up little friend, Madge Dumpling.