Rubble Club Archives

This is the Stone Quarry of the magical land of Undergrowby somewhere in and around the sunny human town of Blackpool and I am Madge Dumpling, chairman of the Rubble Club for pet rocks and their devoted owners. Phew! If this Blackpool sun gets any hotter I may have to roll my sleeves up to the elbows and risk attracting hundreds of nuisance admirers. Come in, Rubble Clubbers, out of the heat. I know you have come to expect a delicious buffet when you arrive but it is much too hot to bake rock cakes so you have a choice…you can either tuck into the unbaked cake mix or make do with yesterday’s crumbled-up leftovers that I was saving for my friends the pigeons. Take your pick and help yourselves, Rubble Clubbers, but if you choose the cake mix, mind your pet rocks don’t jump into the mixing bowl in their eagerness to join in! They think they are helping of course, but they just make a mess.

Bob the Tea Boy has just arrived fresh from the coach. He is serving his Scottish tea cold for a change. Thoughtfully as ever, he has brought a nice big magical bottle of it with him wrapped in a tartan label, so we won’t even need to boil the kettle. If you need to dilute it (I advise it- it’s party-starting magic is potent),  just dip your cup into the cooling, nutritious fluids bubbling away in the fish tank. I have no tap.

Since we have a heatwave, it is just as well that we have come up with an idea for pet rock sunglasses at last. I have been aware of  your collective minds on the matter, Rubble Clubbers abd thanks to our collective mind-power, the divine answer came to light while I was rummaging in the dustbins on the Promenade. One of those green plastic pop bottles rolled on to the floor and a promenading drunk person stepped on it, cracking it open for me so I could rip it apart. I put the pieces in my basket and when I got home I cut out hundreds of little little sun visors from it. I attached them neatly to the pet rocks’ foreheads with blobs of blue goo which I stole from behind the counter in the Magic Wand Factory Shop  on Dickson Road, Blackpool. Job done!

On to the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnoch, the Rubble Club’s Chief Knitter,  has been on a coach trip for devoted knitters like herself and we must take a moment to thank her for wearing her Rubble Club Knitter’s badge pinned into her hand-knitted outfit. No doubt, when they get back from the coach trip we shall be having some of those knitters knitting on the Rubble Club couch this week, hoping they will get a badge, but there is only one Chief Knitter and that is you Linda! They will just have to wait till you retire if they want anything more than a deputy knitter’s badge.

Linedancer, thank you for your letter. Granny Gray, my shopkeeper is looking forward to seeing you for a good old gossip. Let us hope she is in when you call, because she has taken to gadding about on the buses (like me) now that she has got her over sixties’ bus pass. Grandad Gray is reluctantly left in charge for much of the time, and try as he might, he is no good at gossiping. Your friends and fellow prefects, John, Jacob and Julie, whom you met in the shop last year, returned to the shop for a visit this week while Granny Gray was out. Grandad Gray had to serve them and even though I have interrogated him at length for information, the only thing I can get out of him is that their pet rocks’ pet minnows are still alive. Pfff!

I am pleased to announce that a beautiful little girl came in the shop wearing a tiara and said she had successfully down-loaded the pictures from the Rubble Club website and printed them out. That is the first time anyone has managed to do it, and Granny Gray awarded her a special prize for her efforts…a pet rock tiara. Congratulations to her and if we are lucky, for her next trick the beautiful girl will be sending us  a photo of her and her pet rock in their matching tiaras!

NEWSFLASH! The beautiful little girl has written me a heart-warming little letter. It says….

Dear Madge Dumpling, I come from the Rocky Headlands and that’s where you live. I have one pet rock and her name is Princess. She is very spoilt. She has a house and I feed her pancakes and pizza. She has a lovely tiara and sleeps in a beautiful pink bed. Love from Eleanor Ward age 7.

Well, Eleanor Ward, age 7, only the best people come from the Rocky headlands, don’t we? I shall be coming round to your house to visit Princess in her pink bed, so if there is an extra nibble taken out of those pancakes and pizza, you will know who has done it. For one so young, you are truly talented and a fine example to pet rock owners everywhere. Next time you go into the Magic Wand Factory Shop, I have told Granny Gray to give you the lovely new prefect’s badge that I am making for you. Linedancer, please take note, you have another very special young prefect to look after.

There is something about sunny weather that makes pet rock collectors love grumpy pet rocks. All through the winter there has been a shelf full of grumpy pet rocks, born, sadly for them, in the wet middle of a rare Blackpool rainstorm, with rain-dampened sour faces only a mother (like me) could love. Nobody has wanted them, even as free gifts, but now the sun has come out, strangely, everybody wants them. Naughty pet rock accessories, naughty huts and naughty corners are also strangely in demand, to go with them. I don’t understand it. In all my years as a world-famous pet rock whisperer I have never known the sun to go to people’s heads in this way, turning them into grumpy pet rock fanatics.  Anyway, against my normally sweet nature,(you know me) a dark part of me is ruthlessly praying for rain so  I can hatch out a big batch of them before the summer really kicks in. Once I have taken the trouble to hatch them out specially, and get wet in the process, their new owners had better not go off them when the weather cools off. I think I should put an official Rubble Club warning sign up in the shop window, “Grumpy pet rocks are for life, not just for when the sun shines!” And perhaps a price rise may be in order.

There may be a film of the Magic Wand Factory Shop coming up soon, if Grandad Gray can figure out how to load it on to the web site. It was made by two very talented young film-makers and computer experts (who will one day be world-famous like myself), and you will love it, as I do. There’s music and twinkling stars and everything. I was not there when they came to make the film, so you will not be seeing me on the screen, sadly, but you can see lots of exquisite pet rocks and their accessories and imagine me there under the counter, listening in as I like to do.   Just ignore those fabulous magic wands and concentrate on the pet rocks.

And now I must go and bully Grandad Gray into getting on with it while you and your little rockies have a nice line dance around the buffet table. Linedancer, you will be in charge of the shimmying single-handedly today. I am needed elsewhere. Until next week, dear members, I remain your devoted chairman and hot little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Greetings to all you lovely pet rock fanciers and your little rocky pals, and well done for making this pilgrimage to this secret invisible entrance to the Rubble Club. In real life, sadly,  you would never be able to find your way here  because my front door is sensibly hidden under a pile of rubble in a back yard in Blackpool. A short stride away, thousands of visitors are basking in the Blackpool sunshine. They would never guess this fabulous, world-famous venue was here, which is just as well because the rock cake buffet would not stretch to cater for a massive head-count. Duck your heads down carefully, Rubble Clubbers, as you enter my little parlour here in the Stone Quarry of Undergrowby. We don’t want any bumps on the head, do we? Here in this exclusive (only because it is so tiny)  headquarters of the Rubble Club, we do what needs to be done for the health and happiness of our beloved pet rocks. We are all of one mind in that respect, but there is one mind amongst us which holds all the pet rock information the world has ever known, and that is mine. I am Madge Dumpling, pet rock whisperer and Quarrymistress of the magical land of Undergrowby and since this is my house, I will do the talking.

Over there on the couch is my head prefect, Linedancer, who will lead the pet rock line-dancing session later, except for the shimmying in which I will take the lead (because I do it so well). Next to her, knitting away as if her life depended on it is my deputy head prefect and chief knitter for the Rubble Club, Linda from Kilmarnoch. Linda’s husband, Bob is pouring the tea which he made earlier. I kept a close eye on him and his secret magical ingredients but the labels were written in Scottish, to put me off the scent. When you have eaten your crunchy rock cakes hand your plates to Malcolm, my husband, who is in the kitchen merrily washing up. He prefers to be seen but not heard, because he likes the sound of my voice better than his own, and so do I.

Linedancer, Linda and I have been discussing pet rock eye protection from the ever more blinding sun’s rays. Now summer is on its way we have to provide them with sunglasses, sun visors etc.. It’s only fair, and especially here in sunny Blackpool, that famous pet rock holiday resort, where the sun shines brightest of all, and the sea breeze blows their paper parasols away. Pet rocks can’t squint like us, as you know, and imagine how you would feel if you couldn’t squint or close your eyes when your paper parasol has blown away and the dazzling summer sun is beaming right into your face? The think tank is still open on the matter and your ideas are needed. You might think that I would have the answer, world-famous pet rock expert that I am, but it has never been that much of a problem until we moved to Blackpool. Sun, sun, sun, every day it shines in Blackpool! Even on the rare occasion when it is raining, the pet rocks know it is shining up there behind the clouds because I have told them so (to distract them from their fear of the rain) and they are always expecting it to come out suddenly and blind them again. I am searching around for the perfect material to make little sun shields or sunglasses out of,  and I will find it, or die searching.

One of my gossipping friends, Limpy the pigeon who has taken up residence on the roof across the road, has come to the meeting to listen to our ideas and requirements. He will go off on a flying mission later today to seek out whatever is needed to make our first prototype. I am making him a badge and promoting him to chief pigeon. By the way, Bob, your tea boy badge is nearly ready and will be posted off to you when the bank holiday is over.

I have never known banks to have so many holidays as they do here in Blackpool! In Undergrowby we only have one bank, the Seed Bank on the eastern edge of the Wandmaker’s Forest.  Seedy Sid, the bank manager, never has a holiday, except for the long winter sleep, when seeds (along with the entire population of Undergrowby apart from myself) must not be disturbed. When he is not counting out his jars of seeds and giving seed advice to the Seven Schools, he is rummaging around in his underground stores watching out for for his seeds’  health and well-being, much like myself with my little rockies. He loves his seeds. Well, never mind, we all have our weaknesses. If you are in love with your work, like me, Sid, Malcolm, Wanderella, the pigeons, Granny Gray, etc., etc., you don’t need a holiday, do you?

All this talk about boring seeds is making me (and no doubt you) sleepy, and to wake us all up, this is a good time for a jolly little line-dance. Everybody get on the couch in a row then, squeeze in! Those who can’t fit in will have to make another row behind the couch please. Hold your pet rocks out in front of you where they can see Linedancer. Linedancer, get up and stand in front. Who’s singing and clapping? Me again, that’s correct. Linedancer and your pet rock linedancing team, away you go! Join in, Rubble Clubbers, keep up! Don’t worry, when it gets to the shimmy I’ll trot up and take the stage. Clap! Clap! Clap! La di da di da di dum Clap! Clap! Clap! yee ha! Don’t watch me,…watch Linedancer!

Phew! That’s enough! You can sit down now Linedancer, while I tell you a story about lines, while we are on a line-theme. Every now and then, as you may or may not be aware, a  magical rune rock , a gift from heaven, is found amongst the rubble, usually white and angelic with its magical rune sign scratched on its bottom. Well, one turned up this week under the North Pier, and I have a feeling it was sent as for the purpose of inspiring us in the matter of pet rock sunglasses. It is the rune known as SOL, the sun rune, which provides power, enlightenment and strength in times of trouble. Rubble Clubbers, as you ponder the way forward for the pet rock sunglasses and any other equally weighty matter you may be considering in your own life, scratch this rune onto your wall, table (or for the less destructive amongst you) draw it on a  piece of paper and keep it in your pocket. It is like a zig zag lightening bolt..down, up and down…. If you are dutifully trying to draw it, as I hope, you must start in the far north-west of the page with a north-to-south downward stroke. Halfway down the page, stop and without lifting the pen from the paper, draw a straight line back towards the north east, but only halfway as far north as the starting point, then turn the line straight down vertically to the south again. The two vertical lines will be equal in length and the second line will end half a line’s length further south than the first one if you have done it perfectly. Never mind if it is not perfect. Keep trying till it looks like a twinkly zig zag. Whatever it looks like, stick it in your pocket. It will do. You tried your best to follow me, and that will make it twinkle with heavenly magic, because Heaven loves a trier.

And with that I will leave you to get practicing. By next week we shall have enlightenment and the pet rocks will have their sunglasses, or my name is not Madge Dumpling, and I am not the Chairman of the Rubble Club and I am not your faithful, long-suffering friend!

Come in out of the fine rain, Rubble Clubbers. We all know it will be over in a moment because here in sunny Blackpool the sun is never far away, but we don’t want the pet rocks’ paper umbrellas getting wet and unattractively crinkly, do we? Oh, too late! There are new umbrellas on the end of the mantelpiece if you need replacements, (for a small fee). Whatever you do, do not throw your damp umbrellas into the fire! Leave them with me for refurbishment. I will commission a world-famous artist, a friend of mine, to iron them and re-paint them, better than before, in exchange for a week’s supply of my speciality rock cakes. The new, improved umbrellas will no doubt be on sale at the end of the mantelpiece by next week.

Linda from Kilmarnoch, thank you for your donation to the funds, and how fascinating that there should be a knitted portrait of myself dressed as a linedancer somewhere in Scotland. Perhaps I was spotted by a fortune-telling knitter while on one of my coach trips to Scotland, of which I am fond. I have to admit to being as pretty as a picture and it is unsurprising that, quite innocently, I happened to be the inspiration for a Scottish knitter, (much like yourself, Linda) who was also psychic enough to see me somewhere in the future, line-dancing away in my invisible cowboy outfit. Spookily, her prediction came true, didn’t it,  at last week’s meeting, when, under the influence of Bob-the-Tea-Boy’s Scottish tea, we all had a merry linedance under the expert guidance of our head prefect, Linedancer? If you ever bump into that knitter at one of those Scottish knitters’ clubs, Linda, pat her on the back from me. I am sure knitted linedancing Madge Dumplings will be a best seller for her.

I have exciting news for those of you who are thinking of visiting Blackpool in the near future. The buses have started giving free mystery tours while they you ferry you from here to there. You never know where you’re going to end up when you get on a bus. You think you are on your way to town, but then suddenly the bus driver swerves off the main road down a side street and onto the sunny sea-sprayed Promenade for a change. It’s lovely! When the mystery tour is over, the bus driver makes sure you get to wherever you thought you were going in the first place, unless of course you shout “Stop!” and decide to get off on the promenade and chat to the pigeons instead  of shopping, like I did. Some believe the detours are because of the rebuilding and improvement work going on, causing roadworks and traffic blockages, but I know it is not quite that simple.

There IS a lot of building work going on, I admit. The roads are up everywhere, thanks to us Undergrowby gnomes digging our underground tunnel networks and popping up here and there to get our bearings, but really, our holes are small enough for a bus driver to steer his way around them easily. No, it’s those nice Blackpool bus drivers and their sense of holiday fun, planning ever more thrilling ways to entertain us. They are always so nice to me when I get my ladder stuck in the door. Any other bus driver, anywhere in the world would scowl at me and say “Madge Dumpling, for heaven’s sake get a move on!”, but not them. Sparing my feelings and aware that I am doing my best, they never give me a second glance. It’s as though I were invisible. I have to say that compared with some of the astonishing sights I see parading themselves along the Promenade, singing out loud, eating chips and dressed in the worst of taste, I with my basket of pet rocks seem to be amongst the least shocking sights a bus driver might have to confront. I expect I could often be mistaken for an over-dressed pigeon getting on the bus, since I am about that size, if it were not for my ladder and my basket of pet rocks.

The sea is warming up now, getting itself ready for its summer visitors. When I am out and about collecting rock samples on the beach I am tempted to have a paddle along the edge of the waves, but I am not that selfish. I have to consider that I may be swept away with the tide and my pet rocks along with me, and then who would run the Rubble Club? One day when I am old enough to retire, I will appoint an apprentice and then I can have a week off to paddle away to my heart’s content. But meanwhile, you know me, I am a bit of a martyr to work. My husband Malcolm has all the fun, doing the housework, seeing to the Stone Quarry, carrying his boulders up and down, chiselling away making slabs and putting the slabs in piles of different sizes, grinding the bits into gravel for my gravel tea and dogsbodying around for me to his hearts’ content. Like a sentimental fool, I keep letting him.

And before I leave you to tuck in to another fabulous Rubble Club buffet, I have a brain teaser for you, Rubble Clubbers. Summer is coming and the sun gets more and more dazzling every year, thanks to the times we are in. We who have ears can wear sunglasses, but has anyone got any ideas how we can protect our little pets’ eyes from the sun apart from putting their umbrellas up for them? I  am thinking hard, but so far nothing has come to me. Until next week, I remain your thoughtful little Chairman and sentimental friend, Madge Dumpling.

This is a half-awake Madge Dumpling, Quarrymistress, pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club for pet rocks and their doting owners world-wide. Dawn has only just dawned and my cosy, gritty couch is already full of lovely Rubble Clubbers, chatting away to each other. Luckily, Malcolm my husband was up before dawn, as I instructed him, lighting the fire and putting the kettle on. The mantlepiece is somewhat overcrowded with pet rocks but that is how we like it.  Linedancer I can see you there, kneeling down behind the couch sweeping up the rubble for your world-famous Zen garden. I apologize for accusing you of being absent last week. I should have known better. It is a warm comfort to me to know that your orderly, creative and observational talents are always dutifully in our midst.

Bob from Kilmarnoch has returned again with his Scottish tea-blending equipment. Your Tea Boy’s badge is almost ready, Bob, but like all works of art, it will take as long as it takes. I shall stop rushing with it now I know you are not coming to Blackpool to pick it up until late in the year. It will only get lost and end up on the Lost and Found table outside my front door along with all the poor orphans. Meanwhile, I will keep an eye on your tea-making performances and see if the badge I am making is quite good enough. As you know, Bob, and if you do not, I must make it clear so as not to raise your hopes too high, you can never hope to be the chief tea-maker for the Rubble Club because that is me. But you can help, and you can have a nice badge for doing so, and take over when I am feeling like a well-deserved rest. You can take over now in fact, while I organise the pet rock linedanceing session, but you must not use Linda’s best brandy, must he, Linda? Any other Scottish ingredient will do, though.  Don’t worry, Rubble Clubbers, there is already a nice big teapot full of my own special gritty floor-sweepings blend over there on the table, to make sure standards are maintained while I train Bob up to the pitch of perfection you all expect. Meanwhile, try a sip of Bob’s tea and tell him what you think. He calls them his cocktail party blends. (Warning: If you are vain and do not want your nose to turn red, stick to mine).

When Linda and Bob come down from Kilmarnoch, they are organising to get together with Linedancer, Granny Gray and myself, and no doubt countless others, and have a Rubble Club party in the Gynn Hotel, just down the road from the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road. I am already baking rock cakes ready for it, because I have read the menu at the Gynn, and there is no mention of anything wholesome and fit for Rubble Clubbers. I am filling the safe with my speciality baking, ready for party night. They will be nice and stale and festively-crunchy by the time it happens. Pet rocks must be kept on the tables at all times and be supervised strictly, for fear that they will be abducted by strangers, because there will be several non-Rubble Clubbers present who have probably never seen a pet rock before. And Rubblers, you know how irresistable they are!

This week I have been busily typing out another of my pet rock bedtime stories, called Killjoy Roy and his Squeaky Toy. When Grandad Gray gets his act together and sticks it on the web-site, you will be able to give your rockies a break from the other two stories, (which your pet rocks will now know off by heart, I dare say). I hope the little darlings will remember it fondly from the days when they still lived with me.

Spring is the season for dancing, and like responsible owners, we must help our pet rocks, who cannot dance very well unaided, to enjoy the spring activities, and dance like a row of full-blown tulips in a spring breeze.  As we are all together, let’s get in a row, like tulips, and teach the rockies how to do a bit of line-dancing, as we have an expert in our midst who can teach those who have never done it, like myself. Unable to do everything at once, I must now, therefore, stop writing notes and tune up my singing voice ready for the linedancing session. Everyone get in place behind your pet rocks, ready to follow Linedancer, who will teach you a nice pet rock line dance while I beat time with my rocking chair, singing one of my range of ‘rock-songs-to dance-to’ and clapping for you. Till next week, this is me signing out, ever your versatile Chairman and constant friend, Madge Dumpling.

Where is everybody? Linda from Kilmarnoch, I am pleased to see you there again, knitting away on the couch like the eternal flame that never dies, but it seems we are quite alone here at Rubble Club H.Q., except for Linda’s eager, helpful husband Bob, who has kindly taken it upon himself to make the tea.   I know you are only doing it for the Tea Boy’s badge, Bob, and yes, I am dutifully making you one as I speak. I have never had a Tea Boy before, and if you don’t delight us all with your breathtakingly unusual tea-blending, I shall not have one for long. You know how high my tea-making standards are, Bob, and my liking for best quality blends, so you are on probation. I’ll make you a nice badge no matter what it tastes like, because I like a tryer! (I am one myself…a tryer, and we tryers love to be presented with a badge for our efforts every now and again, don’t we?)

Linedancer, we are all worried about you. Could you please speak up if you are hiding somewhere in the rubble. You and your ailments are a constant source of concern to the little rockies, who are rapidly running out of hope of ever being invited to visit your Blackpool Zen Garden, which is now on my official list of places to visit for Rubble Clubbers worldwide. We need more creative types like yourself to encourage people to organise coach trips to Blackpool, lured by  swanky venues like your own. Linedancer, I have to tell you that Linda, your deputy head prefect has sent a letter full of good wishes to you,  her prefectly friend.  If you are ill, please let us know and I will get Doc Leaf, your guru, to rustle something up for you.

This is one of those holiday weekends,  or so I am led to believe(by the pigeons on the promenade, my reliable informants). It is a long weekend because it has been May Day this week, so I have left it till the last day (Monday) to publish my report on the meeting, half-expecting a massive influx of members at the last minute. Sadly, no one is here but the Growbies their pet rocks, myself and my pet rocks,  and Linda and Bob and their pet rocks. Oh, Bob, the tea is lovely! I see you found my jar of gravel teabags, and you have added a litttle Scottish party ingredient of your own, I detect. My nose is going red and I am feeling flushed. Now the party can go with a bit more of a swing! Get the peppermint rock buns out of the safe, Bob, unless you want to have a go at baking. We need something to soak up all this tea.

Having Bob here waiting on me  for a change is very welcome because  I have had a very busy week this week, Rubblers, sewing new summery outfits for myself. It is so constantly sunny here in Blackpool that our traditional but eternally trendy multi-layered Undergrowby outfits are just too hot. However, as I am not given to revealing too much flesh, for fear of attracting too many nuisance admirers, it is hard to get it just right. After much effort I have achieved the coolness I was looking for. If you are thinking of coming to sunny Blackpool to adopt some new pet rocks you could do worse than to copy my cool, summery fashion ideas.

In Undergrowby, true to our name, we like our undergarments. My new summer outfits’ undergarments will have no padded thistledown liberty bodices for a change, and only one corrugated cardboard corset, one lightly woven nettle fibre vest and discarded dishcloth underskirts. My new overfrock will be rock brown sackcloth as usual, but its sleeves will end daringly two inches above the wrist instead of the usual full-length winter version. For the sake of modesty I will have to sport a 2 ply brown crocheted seaweed shawl(not 4 ply, that’s too hot), a cute orange scarf made from those useful satsuma bags and a yellow waterproof swimming cap made from Marigold label designer gloves, decorated  with orange peel ribbons. Well, sometimes it does rain for a few moments, at night, even in Blackpool, and a floppy waterproof swimming hat works almost as well as an umbrella on a damp summer evening. If you decide to take a dip in the sea, just tie it down well under your chin with your satsuma bag scarf. I know, it’s an inspiration, isn’t it? But surely you expect no less from me by now.

If you start making your outfit now, like me, you will have it ready for the summer heatwaves. We can all take our pet rocks out for a walk along the Blackpool Promenade in the bright sunshine, dressed all to match, wearing our 2009 Rubble Club badges, which I will provide. Bob, however, may not want to copy my girly fashion ideas, but as long as he sticks to the colour scheme, he can walk behind with the picnic basket.!

Newsflash! Granny Gray has had a nice young man taking a film of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, for an advertising feature on the Magic Wand Factory website. I insisted she have the young man take lots of pictures of the pet rock accessory shelves. I will let you know when and where to watch out for it when the nice young man’s films are developed.

The Growbies have all gone home now, and there are only three of us left here drinking the lovely Bob’s tea. Perhaps we need to recruit some new members before we call another meeting. What do you think, Rubblers? Shall we have a week off to rest, make our outfits and gather new members? Or shall we meet again next week as usual?  Until then, whatever happens, I shall go back to my stitching. Thank you for a lovely rest, Bob. I am your red-nosed little hard working chairman and faithful friend, Madge Dumpling, Quarrymistress of Undergrowby, signing out.