Rubble Club Archives

Hello, Rubble Clubbers and come on in. I am the world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling, your enthusiastic Chairman. There is a light sprinkling of rare Blackpool rainfall at the moment, here at Rubble Club H.Q. in sunny Blackpool. I am thinking of bottling it to sell as a curiosity, so shake off your umbrellas (and your pet rocks’ umbrellas) into this big bowl please and help yourselves to the buffet and find a seat as quickly as possible because I have something to announce.

First, the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnoch, the Deputy Head Prefect and Rubble Club Chief Knitter, ever present like a beautiful Scottish mountain, has written to me to offer a football hat and scarf knitting service for football-supporting pet rocks. She specialises in Blackpool supporters and Kilmarnoch supporters but I dare say she will knit for anyone’s team, because that is who she is, the soul of obligingness. If you send me your inquiries and requests I will forward them to her. If only I had known soon enough, I would have enlisted her services with the Blackpool supporters, but it was all too late before I realised. I only just made it to Wembley in time for the match as it is. How much are they, Linda, I expect everyone is wondering?

Now then, listen carefully, Rubble Clubbers. It seems there is another football match coming up soon and the team we have to support is England (unless you are Scottish like Linda). Blackpool is in England so supporting England will not entail being unfaithful to Blackpool. ( Heaven forbid!) The lucky pet rocks, if you remember from last week’s Gazette, made such a good job of getting a win for Blackpool, they should go to all the England matches wherever they are held, shouldn’t they? As I have my pet rock whispering to do, I have no time to go travelling all over the world, so anyone who cares if England wins or loses will have to come to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road and get one of my England-supporting pet rocks for themselves, or ring Granny Gray, my doddery old shopkeeper on 01253 353800. If, like me, you are too busy to go round the world with the England team, you can always put your lucky England pet rock on top of the telly for good luck when the England games are on. If you don’t get your lucky England-supporting pet rock and they lose, now you have only yourselves to blame. The pet rocks are willing and eager.

And don’t forget, Rubble Clubbers, that football-supporting is hard work and to do it properly, pet rocks need their packed lunches, cosy beds with England flags (make them yourself) or red umbrellas instead of the usual random umbrellas sticking up out of their umbrella stands and red and white fluff in their beds, and lots of friends to keep them company. Yes it might cost a lot, but never mind. The main thing is, England needs their support and you know where to get it.

Next week I will get down to the Undergrowby Gazette again. After the Bank Holiday and the school holidays there should be lots to report. This week I have to put the finishing touches to my latest book. More about that later.

This week I am relying on you, Rubble Clubbers, to send me your titbits of interesting gossip to entertain the other Rubble Clubbers and their pet rocks. And I don’t just mean Linda from Kilmarnoch.

Till next week, I remain your devoted Chairman and nice little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling, your chairman and world-famous pet rock whisperer. I have just got back from Wembley, making sure Blackpool won the match, (see the Gazette below) and I see there is nobody to greet me here in my parlour. No Rubble Club members at all. Did you all turn up yesterday and leave in disappointment when you heard I had gone to Wembley, distributing hundreds of pet rocks to the fans? Well here I am now to make amends. It just goes to show, I can not afford to abandon my post for a moment if the Rubble Club is to survive! Next week there will be all those new football-supporter Rubble Clubbers amongst us, but they will not be needing seats,(they are not used to sitting down, [see Gazette below]), so it will not be a problem. You prefects will still be able to have the couch.

As there is nobody apart from myself to make tea for, I have now sent my husband Malcolm off to measure up how much rubble he is going to need  to build a new football stadium for Blackpool. So I am alone here in my parlour, exhausted and abandoned. Never mind, it could be worse. I could be that green-faced do-gooder, Wanderella Windmeddler, chief wand-maker of the Undergrowby Magic Wand Factory. You’ll never guess what she has been up to now, Rubble Clubbers, so I’ll tell you. While I was at Wembley interviewing the Blackpool fans I found out that for weeks now she has been secretly distributing her special tangerine and white Blackpool football-supporters’ magic wands amongst the fans coming into the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, pretending they will bring more good luck to the team than my pet rocks. Oddly, and quite by a freak coincidence of course, Blackpool have been doing well since her wands were around, so the fans are now going mad for them. I saw quite a few being waved around by naive, superstitious Blackpool fans at Wembley, but I looked away. I just pretended they did not exist, biting my lip so hard that it bled and carried on handing out the pet rocks.  And now look! She is on the front page of the ‘Gnomes’ Gnews is Good Gnews’, an inferior rival newspaper to the Undergrowby Gazette. She’s there waving a wand and taking credit for Blackpool’s winning the game, and there’s not a word about me and my pet rocks! It’s a good job it only has a handful of readers because everyone now reads my newspaper, the award-winning Undergrowby Gazette, where they will see the real truth behind the win.

Anyway, I am sorry I missed all of you, my lovely pet rock owners and your little pets, my dear friends, and wherever you are, the Blackpool football team would like to thank you for excusing me from the meeting for long enough to make them win. And friends, just think how much bigger the Rubble Club is now with all those new members! Till next week I remain, as ever, your hard-working chairman and faithful friend, MadgeDumpling.

Welcome to all pet rock owners and your little pets. Go on through to my parlour and help yourselves to the buffet. There are a few pet rock hosts and hostesses waiting on the mantlepiece to play with your own little darlings. My husband Malcolm will pour the tea alone today as his pal, Tea Boy Bob, has absconded off to a football match in Kilmarnoch (driving a van full of football supporters’ lucky Cadbury’s creme eggs, which he foolishly mistook for lucky football supporters’ pet rocks) and he has not returned

I am Madge Dumpling your Chairman, newly-recovered from the brink of death with my poorly arm, thanks to all your good wishes. Thank you for that, Rubble Clubbers, especially Linda from Kilmarnoch for her frequent news updates and indomitable optimism. That new job is just around the bend, Linda. Your smoky quartz pebble must have rejected the last one, or you would have got it for sure.

It is lucky that I am on top form now because the pet rocks are suddenly in great demand by ball-players in need of good luck (see the Gazette below, then continue reading).

Rubble Clubbers, you will be relieved to hear that I have solved the problem of balls not bouncing by wrapping the pet rocks in nice new sponge cloths that I find going spare  behind bars in pubs and hotels. If you fancy having a go at making straw balls with pet rocks in the middle, I can provide all the pet rocks you need, and I can tell you all you might wish to know about Pop ball’s secret ball-making technique.  All you need is a pet rock, a sponge cloth, rubber bands, some straw,  a pair of tights and a sewing kit. Plait the straw together to make strong yarn and keep adding more strands till you have such a long plait that you have to roll it up into a ball. Keep going till you have a ball nearly as big as the ball you want to make. Wrap the pet rock in its sponge, held in place by lots of rubber bands, the more the merrier because they are bouncy. Wrap the straw yarn round it in all directions to keep the round shape and hold the ball in place by sliding it into one leg of a pair of tights. Stitch the tights in place with as few gathered lumps as possible. Now invent a nice game to play with it. Don’t ask me, I don’t like sport. I have too much pet rock whispering to do to be running round the playing fields.

All you pet rock knitters, like Linda, don’t forget to make some nice pet rock centred wool balls for birthday presents for your knitting friends. What a nice surprise they’ll have when they get to the middle! If your friends do not knit but are gamblers, you could make them a nice ‘guess which pet rock’s in the middle of the ball of wool’ game.

And think how excited the pet rocks will be to hide in the middle patiently, listening in to private conversations till someone finds them. Don’t forget to hide the Rubble Club membership forms along with the pet rocks, or the new owners will not know how to get to the Rubble Club meetings to learn how to care for their new little pet.

And with that I will leave you eating your extra-crunchy rocky oatcakes sprinkled with dressed lawn seed( a speciality ingredient that I found in my-friend-the-Gardener’s hut in Gynn gardens).  Until next week I remain your helpful chairman and busy little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Come on in, Rubble Clubbers.  I am here again, your devoted Chairman and world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling. My arm(thank you Linda, Suz and Linedancer, for all for your get well messages about my arm) is tied up in a cute brown and yellow floral sling but still, as you see,  I have struggled to open the door for you. Doc Leaf has the cheek to say I am nearly back to full health now but I am determined that I am not. I have taken a liking to having my arm in a sling because I deserve it. It’s time I had a rest from all kinds of tedious jobs, like pouring out the teas and wringing out the washing. Tea Boy Bob, although he is not at all well himself,  has quite rightly rushed over from Kilmarnoch to Blackpool to reinstall himself in the tea-making department till I am fully restored to health. At times like this you find out how important you truly are, and whom you can trust to prop you up when all is against you. Even other invalids, like Bob, whose illnesses are inferior to mine are welcome to do little jobs for me if they can drag themselves to the Stone Quarry.

As I have been sitting on the couch this week, relaxing between pet rock whispering sessions, I have been tempted to get my reporter’s notebook out and do some drawings for the Undergrowby Gazette, but people might think I have fully recovered and stop waiting on me hand and foot, so, for those of you who insist on seeing pictures, once again I will have to get the family album out and introduce you to  an old picture of one of the lesser-known Undergrowby Rubble Clubbers.

The picture below is Bertha the midwife who lives in Seventh Heaven in the west of Undergrowby. She has never been married, despite spending all her spare moments sitting on the bench outside the Date-a-Gnome Agency. She doesn’t have many spare moments between her chores, looking after all the new mothers and their babies at the Gooseberry Bush Maternity home, so she remains on the shelf. Daisy the Datamaid from the Date-a-gnome-agency has almost given up hope of a match. It’s a shame. Bertha has so much love to give. Still, she has her pet rocks on her bedside table so she is never alone.

For good luck, every gooseberry bush in her garden has a pet rock mobile hanging from its canopy to entertain the babies as they fall asleep in the fresh air on pleasant days, and I supply her with a free pet rock and Rubble Club membership form for every baby.  That way, babies cannot escape being lifelong members of the Rubble Club. It’s for their own good.

and with that I will leave you. I know she is not as attractive as myself, or she would be married by now, but it can’t be helped. Perhaps if she put her hat on straight and changed her drab grey uniform for a nice brown and yellow outfit like my own, she would have more suitors. If there is a gnome out there in cyberspace who wishes to meet her, to prove your devotion you will have to attend the Rubble Club every week. She might just be popping in if there is a drop in the birth rate, and then I will introduce you.

Until next week, I remain here in the couch in my tasteful, elegant sling, clutching the family album. I am your convalescing chairman and eternally devoted friend, Madge Dumpling.

Hello to all you lovely pet rock owners and your little pets, this is Madge Dumpling, your faithful chairman, here, ushering you all to your seats out in the back yard. The prefects can have the larger bricks to sit on if you don’t mind, except Linda from Kilmarnoch who is here in person so she can have a large plant-pot as a special reward. I will have the deckchair. Limpy the pigeon and his friends can have the ladder. I would normally bring you into the parlour but it’s all spring cleaned and we can’t be having crumbs messing up the newly sprinkled gravel. The sun is shining as usual and the seagulls are squawking overhead, trying to drown out my speech. They keep trying to get on the pigeons’ ladder but I have shooed them off. They are too unruly and greedy to be anywhere near the buffet table. You let one in and thousands more arrive. They’re crazy, and anyway, they never have any juicy gossip, like my friends, the pigeons.

I know, I know, you all want to know if I am better, so I’ll put you out of your misery immediately. My poorly arm is still poorly but I am typing left-handedly, trying to pretend it is not because I am clearly too important to you all to leave you to your own devices for another week. My husband Malcolm tried hard in my absence but I fear he is not a party animal, is he, Rubble Clubbers? My mailbox was overflowing with heartfelt good wishes and I wept tears of joy over them all. Thank you all so much.

Eleanor and Summer, I know Granny Gray  has not been in the shop the last two times you called but I have told Grandad Gray where your fabulous prizes are, so if I am not here when you come, don’t let him pretend he doesn’t know what you are talking about when you say “We’ve come to collect our prizes”. Granny Gray has been waiting on me hand and foot in my hour of need, and since I can’t handle my ladder with a poorly arm, she has had to accompany me on my travels, lifting me on and off the buses and trams and carrying my basket for me. She will be doing so until I am better and not a moment longer because I am sick of her always knowing my whereabouts and listening in to all my private conversations. (She is such a gossip!)(Unlike myself)

My arm is too poorly for drawing pictures, so here is a nice picture of Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, from my album of famous Undergrowby Rubble Clubbers. He is my neighbour, he lives alone and like me, he doesn’t sleep through the winter, and is very nosey. Being nosey is essential when you have to inspect the land, sea and sky and keep a record of everything that happens, just in case of emergencies. He is a national hero and he depends upon his pet rocks keep him company in his lonely watch tower, because he does not like being with people. People talk too much, force new pet rocks upon him and try to feed him rock cakes and distract him from his important work.  No matter how much they would like to get  up into his watch tower to have a good nosey around at what is going on, he just snatches their gifts and slams the door in their face. I never bother with him.

Here he is, and until next week that is the best I can do. I remain your irreplaceable chairman and grateful friend, Madge Dumpling.

and below is a close up of him working hard…..