The Rubble Club

Story time.

2012-02-26T17:40:00.001Z

Rubble Clubbers, I am beginning to think I am imagining things. Just when I am convinced that there are hundreds of invisible cyber-space Rubble clubbers here in my parlour, and I am truly as world-famous as I think I am, today I start to wonder. It's very quiet, isn't it rockies? And no one at all has written to me this week. I am guessing that probably you are all asleep in your bed cupboards. For that reason I have thrown a tablecloth over the buffet, poured myself a giant cup of gravel tea and I am postponing the meeting till next week. Instead, rockies, to make up for the disappointing lack of visitors, I am going to tell you a nice story. Gather round.
It's called .. Lonely Iris..
(no, you don't know it, it's a new one!)

LONELY IRIS

Iris Prince was the loneliest eight year old Growby in the land of Undergrowby. Her brothers and sisters were much older and she had no friends at all. It wasn't her fault. She lived in the ice-covered Princes' Palace above the snow line on the right bank of the Watery Wetlands. Her mother was the ice polisher and her father was the ice cube chopper. They had all been living above the snow line for so long their blood had turned blue. They would not try to pretend otherwise because they were rather proud of the attractive blue colour of their skin, particularly the tips of their noses, fingers and toes which had turned a sort of neon blue, plain for all to see. The rest of the Growbies who were less hard-working by nature, and less able to brave the cold, called them 'blue bloods', as if they were a separate species.
But they were not. It was just that the Princes had to keep working hard all the time so they did not freeze up altogether. Hard work makes you rich, as we all know, so thanks to the cold climate making them work hard, they could not help becoming very rich indeed. Iris, who was not old enough to work, had to do fast deep breathing exercises and flap her little arms and legs around when she was not endurance-skipping with her skipping rope or fearlessly practicing her advanced acrobatics on her own (because, remember, she had no friends). She had hundreds of toys, and everything money could buy, but no friends.
At one end of the Princes' Palace was a small fire with a small oven. A big one would have melted the ice palace and its huge stock of ice cubes, and their work would have been ruined, so the whole family would huddle together at night by the small fire and discuss their icy business before retiring to their bed cupboards on either side of the small chimney.
Her handsome older brother, Charlie, who was hardly ever at home, was the speedy ice deliverer for the family firm. Several times a day he would stack his go-kart with ice cubes and zoom off downhill to the Summerlands in the hot south of Undergrowby. His destination was the Hotspot Cafe next to the Bonfire Theatre. The Hotspot Cafe was a sort of hot tea room with famous entertainers doing a non-stop cabaret, including the likes of Eva Tweaver, the tinkling-voiced Hotspot Diva. Ice cream was the Hotspot's most popular dish with the over-heated holiday-makers, and their ice cream tub was kept frozen by sitting it in a slowly-melting bed of ice cubes.
Thanks to Charlie Prince, there was always fresh ice around that ice cream tub from morning to night. The crowds in the Summerlands cheered to see him arrive with a fresh batch on the hour every hour. He was quite the holiday attraction, swishing past the Midsummer Flowerbeds at top speed, screeching to a halt, unloading, then zipping off again, sprinting back uphill with his go kart on his back. Ah, the ladies loved him.
But that was no use to lonely Iris, stuck up there in the cold, bored to tears on her own. One day, after a lunch of frozen chips, when her parents returned to their work, she decided it was time for an adventure. She hid under the pile of ice cubes in Charlie's go kart and breathed very quietly so she would not be noticed. She had never been to the Summerlands of which she had heard so much. Her parents seemed to think it would make her soft and lazy to spend time below the snow line. She was a blue blood after all.and she had certain family values to uphold. But sometimes it was all too much, and this was one of those times. She had to get away.
Charlie suspected nothing. The go-kart set off at full speed downhill and Iris clung to the surrounding ice cubes for safety, but they were very slippery and when Charlie swung round a corner in the Rocky Headlands she fell out.Thanks to her acrobatics practice, she automatically spun into an acrobatic cartwheel and landed with a final spring into standing pose. Charlie never noticed, (he was going so fast), so she had to pick herself up bravely and jog back home the way they had come. How warm it was in the Rocky Headlands! Luckily, her pockets were full of ice cubes from the go-kart so she could cool her fingertips down at least. Her blue nose glowed in alarm and she felt quite in danger. It was thrilling!
As she jogged past a pretty little building called Stone Quarry Cottage she noticed a sign in the window. "Come in and adopt a pet rock right now!" It was too much temptation for one who was so in the mood for adventure as she was. She jogged up the path and through the open door. It was nice and cool in there because it was not Thursday (baking day) and Madge Dumpling the Quarrymistress (who lived there) was not one for big fires during the rest of the week.
Along the mantelpiece were hundreds of orphan pet rocks waiting for someone to come along and adopt them. Madge Dumpling was sprinkling fresh grit around the floor, all over the furniture and along the windowsills to make the place more crunchy and cosy for the pet rocks. "Which pet rock would you like, my dear? You don't need to pay if you are too poor." she asked kindly, but she had already noticed Iris's blue nose and guessed she must belong to that rich, haughty Prince family from the Prince's Palace above the snow line with their magical blue blood, (unlike herself, who had no blue blood, but she did have something which was in no way inferior,....the world-famous Dumpling magic.)
Iris had brought no money with her and though she had spotted a few rocks that she could love instantly, she could not pay for one and was too proud to accept one out of pity. She was a valiant blue blood after all. So she shook her head, but her eyes had locked on to her favourite pet rock. Madge knew straight away. A pet rock whisperer can always tell when a pet rock has found its rightful owner. The pet rock whispered silently to Madge to look in Iris's pockets.
"What is that bulging in your pockets my dear?" asked Madge. Is it money? (Madge knew the Princes were very, very rich, living in that big ice palace of theirs.)
"Oh it's ice cubes," said Iris, suddenly feeling the wetness of melting ice running down her legs. "Do you want them?"
"I couldn't possibly take them for nothing" said Madge in her squeakiest, most caring voice. "You'll have to take a pet rock in exchange or you'll be making me feel very selfish indeed." And so the exchange was made, and that is how Iris Prince got her first pet rock. Over a cup of iced gravel tea, Madge proceeded to tell Iris all she needed to know to keep her pet rock healthy and happy. She pretended that this particular pet rock owned a knitted special winter outfit and fluffy bed of its own (but it didn't really, it was just Madge being an old softy and making sure the pet rock didn't die from the 'winter droop' when it arrived in the sudden cold of the ice palace). She even showed Iris which buttons to press on a magic laptop so that (if she could get her hands on a magic laptop of her own) she could work out how to get to the Rubble Club meetings every weekend.
These meetings, which are designed for the entertainment of pet rocks and for the education of their owners, are held by magic in a special place that only Rubble Clubbers know, hidden in the world of cyber space, but any Rubble Clubber with a magic laptop can attend the meetings secretly from the comfort of their own homes. She would easily be able to talk her rich parents into getting her a laptop of her own, wouldn't she? And as Madge pointed out, it was now her duty as a Rubble Clubber to pester her parents endlessly for everything her pet rocks needed, until she was old enough to earn her own money.
When the tea was all drunk and the ice cubes had all melted, Madge accompanied the damp Iris and her new rocky little pal back home to the Princes' Palace. Madge dutifully called in on every Rubble Clubber along the way to spot-check their pet rock collection and introduce them to this new blue-blood member of the club. Iris was somewhat embarrassed because she only had one pet rock and it seemed that every other Growby in the land of Undergrowby had a massive collection. For once she felt very poor.
Her parents, meanwhile, were on their psychic telephones frantically ringing round everyone they knew asking if they had seen their missing daughter. (Well, it was quicker than going on foot, battling your way through a snowstorm, especially if you are very psychic, as Watery Wetlanders often are.) So when Madge and Iris and Lumpy the pet rock appeared on the doorstep covered in snow from head to foot, they already knew to expect them.
"Come in Mrs Dumpling, can we offer you some frozen chips?" asked Queenie Prince, hoping for a refusal so she could get back on with her work.
"Oh, go on then. If I can't eat them all, I can thaw them out when I get back home and light the fire with them" said Madge appreciatively. "So, Queenie, it's so long since you and Rex were at the Rubble Club I can hardly remember how many pet rocks you have got." (She was fibbing, she never forgets how many pet rocks everyone has got!)
Queenie's thin blue lips clenched and swerved to one side in annoyance. Where were those pet rocks? She racked her brains trying to remember. She knew Madge's next question would be "Can I have a quick word with them? I'm doing a spot check round to see if they are being looked after properly, you see. It's my duty as the Chairman of the Rubble Club, after all."
Her husband Rex was one step ahead of them, however. The moment his friend Clockit Quick had reported to him on the psychic telephone that Madge Dumpling, Iris and a new pet rock were on their way towards the palace, he had set about chipping-out their old collection of pet rocks from the ice-covered sideboards of the palace and thawed them out in front of the tiny fire. They were now in his pocket.
"Here they are, Madge!" he called from the back of the large room, but the pet rocks whispered the truth to Madge when she looked them in the eye. She thought as much.
"Oooh, can I have them?" squealed Iris and snatched the poor neglected little darlings from her fathers blue fingertips. "I'll be needing a magic laptop now, daddy!" she said in a well-practiced husky voice that she knew would get her whatever she wanted. She smiled sweetly and gazed up at him, fluttering her frozen, snow-encrusted eyelashes so fast that the ensuing draught dislodged the snowflakes on her nose and eyebrows, creating a most attractive little snowstorm. Madge was proud of her.
"I think we've got one somewhere," said Rex. Just let me chip away some of this ice. It's over here if I remember rightly." He plucked the chisel which was neatly frozen in place behind his ear, pulled a hammer from his belt and got to work immediately. The laptop was found and Madge braved her way home carrying a big bag of frozen chips.
Nowadays Iris never misses a Rubble Club meeting. She has won all sorts of fabulous pet rock paraphernalia by entering the Undergrowby Rubble Club competitions and she now has the biggest collection of pet rocks in the whole of the land. Her vast array of pet rock furniture, houses, swings, bonfires, toilets and tiny toys is spread along the mantelpiece, (that's because it is only place in the palace which is not covered in ice). Her fluffy warm coat now has hundreds of button-down pockets stitched inside it, so her pet rocks can go safely skipping and cartwheeling with her. Someday she will probably become a famous frozen food maker, specializing in pet rock treats but till then, despite her blue blood, and thanks to her pet rocks (and the Dumpling Magic) at least she will never be lonely again.

THE END.

Until next week, this is Madge Dumpling alone with her pet rocks, falling asleep by the fire.

Feather duster factory!

2012-02-19T15:09:00.000Z

Quick, come on in, Rubble Clubbers! Don't look around you too closely because the Blackpool sun is shining down on Stone Quarry Cottage here in the back yard of the magic wand shop. (Oops, when I say back yard, I really mean the Rocky Headlands of the hidden land of Undergrowby. It is just disguised as a back yard.)Yes, I know, the Blackpool sun is mercilessly showing up all the winter grime and pigeon droppings for all to see. It's a bit of a mess, but it's not my fault. No one could ever call me lazy! My husband Malcolm is in charge of cleaning. Go and tell him! He is over there asleep, overwintering in his bed cupboard. He's the lazy one. I am Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock expert and Chairman of the Rubble Club and I am just returning to health after a dreadful illness that would have certainly killed anyone else.
Hannah Pook sent me a lovely get-well card with pictures of her own pet rock nursing team(who, I am delighted to see, had a very attractive picture of myself , Madge Dumpling, hanging behind them). It made me realize how important I am to so many pet rocks out there, and with that in mind, (thank you so much, Hannah Pook, for your kind words) I summoned the strength to pick up my lucky feather duster again and will myself back to life, and as far away from death's door as I could get. It worked, but in my struggle I wrenched the feathers out of my feather duster and ruined it. Until I replace it I feel somewhat at risk.

Soon it will be spring (in a few weeks, when the first blossoms open on the blackthorn tree) and then all the Growbies will be awake, doing their spring cleaning. Now, I know it's Malcolm's job, but I sometimes like to join in with a few flicks of my lucky feather duster, so I will have to make myself a new one without delay, and I thought you might all like to join in the fun. First we are all going for a walk on the beach collecting seagull feathers, so dress your pet rocks up in their hats and scarves and get your coats on again. I'll push the trolley with the buckets and spades and the beach bag full of excited pet rocks.
No, Tea Boy Bob, we are not going to the Gynn pub for lunch. Linda from Kilmarnock, Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter for the Rubble Club, hold his hand and drag him past the pub. Keep going everyone, across the road and down to the promenade. Stop! There's one of those new trams coming! I'll wave it on. Right, now it's safe, on we go, down the steps and down the slope and on to the beach.
Who's going to be today's chief pet rock entertainer? One of you (Hannah Pook), can make the pet rocks a sand castle and sit them all round in a circle with their buckets and spades in the sun watching you while the rest of us look for feathers. Whatever you do, don't bury them accidentally in the sand, Hannah, or we will be here all day digging for them! Be quick, everyone, and collect as many feathers as you can so we can get back to my cosy parlour.

That'll do! Put the feathers in your pockets and back home we go! I've got lots of useful assorted twigs that I've been collecting from Gynn Gardens all year, so there's no need to snatch any more from the bushes in the Promenade gardens on our way past. We'll soon be back, ah, here we are! In we go! Linda, give us a bit of your nicest wool to tie the feathers onto our twigs.Pick yourselves a twig from my useful twig pot, everyone. Now, dip the end of your twig in Granny Gray's glue pot , that's it, now stick feathers onto the glue all round the stick and bind them down, round and round the stick with Linda's wool(use plenty, she's not selfish)(much like myself).
Now, to test our feather dusters we'll just nip outside and give Stone Quarry Cottage a little dust, shall we? Whoever has got the stiffest duster, you can tackle the pigeon droppings. I'll put the kettle on and give the fire a poke while you are all busy on the house. The pet rocks can sit on the windowsill so they can watch you working. Ah, it's good to be healthy and active again, ready for spring. And I'm sure it's good to know that you now all have a hand-made lucky feather duster to clutch (just like I do) in case you or your pet rocks should fall ill.
In fact, the next competition will be to send me a picture of your lucky feather duster. It can be as big or as small as you like. You must have made it yourself and it can't be just a drawing of one, it must be a photo or the actual duster itself brought into the shop for Granny Gray to photograph. You have until early March, when the first buds open on the blackthorn trees. I'll let you know when that is.
And now just a private word to Jake, Chief Magician, runner up of the last competition....The forgetful, confused old Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, will be sending your prize very soon, Jake. I know she's always late, but I'll keep shouting at her so that it will get there in the end and I hope you will think it was worth waiting for.
And a word to Antonia. Your missing pet rocks have turned up and are on the shop counter awaiting collection.
Next week, when you return to the now shiny clean Stone Quarry Cottage, I shall have lots more fun in store for you and your pet rocks, and until then I remain your tea-pouring Chairman and smiling little friend, Madge Dumpling.

So cold.

2012-02-12T19:06:00.000Z

Over here, Rubble Clubbers, (oh, squeak, rasp, I can hardly talk, I'm so ill!) I'm over here in my bed cupboard, still at death's door. Be quick and close the door, it's so cold and I'm so fragile. But don't worry about me, everyone, just look after yourselves. Get the fire lit someone,...and put the kettle on. I haven't had a cup of tea since last week, but I'm not one for complaining. Don't take any notice of my bright red cheeks and swollen tonsils. You might have to wash up a few cups in the kitchen before you can serve the teas, Tea Boy Bob. While you're at it, fetch a nice cool cloth and wipe my forehead for me, would you? I'm burning up with a fever in case you hadn't noticed. The pet rocks are taking turns at cooling me down but they're worn out. (Sigh, creak!) And so am I. Pant, puff.Oh dear, I'm in a bad way. Huff, huff, puff.

I told you last week that I was banking on a cure from clutching my lucky feather duster, but I half-knew that it would be a waste my time. I feared I might not have the strength to persevere, and I was right. I clutched and I clutched but there came a time when I couldn't hold on to it for a minute longer.(It was so heavy for an invalid to carry, and anyway, I had my pet rock whispering to do). As soon as |I dropped the feather duster I fell into my bed cupboard in a swoon of terrible illness, and I haven't been out since.
I'm too ill to unzip myself from my winter cocoon, but if you or your pet rocks are hungry there are lots of dried-up rock cakes left over from a fortnight ago in that tin on the mantelpiece. No, don't make my open my eyes to show you where it is, I'm too ill. Could you pop your pet rocks on top of my cheeks for a moment. They'll be nice and cold from being outdoors, won't they?
Hannah Pook has won the joke competition, and Jake was runner-up, though I was to ill to supervise the voting.. I'll be sending Granny Gray out to post you a consolation prize, Jake, (that magic stuff you requested when you rang me one time). Hannah, your prize is waiting when you are ready. Thank you both for your valiant efforts. You are lucky I was too ill to enter myself, Rubble Clubbers, because of course, I have lots of pet rock jokes up my sleeve.
Jake rang to see how I was doing this week, but Granny Gray was so busy chatting away to him that she forgot to pass the phone to me. Anybody would think she was the important one, and not me! It's a good job I was too ill to tell her off. I just about managed to open my poorly freezing cold mouth and insist that she made me a get well placard to make up for it.
So it will be a sad Valentine's Day for us here at Stone Quarry Cottage unless I make a sudden recovery tomorrow. Perhaps before you go, you could share out amongst the pet rocks those Valentines I made the other week. Thank you friends,....(deep sigh). If only spring would come right now and take this inconvenient winter illness away. Oh I'm burning up again. Quick, spoon some gravel tea into my mouth, Linda from Kilmarnock, (you know just how I like it done, thank you) then you can close my bed cupboard door and leave me and my rocky little nursing team till next week, when surely I will be back to normal. So much depends on me, doesn't it? I can't die.
From behind the cupboard door, my voice is muffled and fading away now, so till next week, as I lay here swollen and burning up silently, fighting off death, wave your lucky feather dusters in the air for your suffering little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Not well. Might be dying.

2012-02-05T11:42:00.000Z

Oh, Rubble Clubbers, what is wrong with me? I'm not myself. I'm too weak to talk for long. My head is hot, my legs are cold, my neck is stiff, my chin is throbbing, I am dithering and I keep falling over. No, don't pester me for rock cakes, there is no buffet today. I'm too busy holding on to my lucky feather duster in hope of a cure.
Quick, down to business before I die, there has been another competition entry, two more jokes, so the shop customers will have to vote on the winner. If you can't get to the shop, here they are, write to grannygray@therubbleclub.co.uk and vote.

!. Why can't pet rocks sit under toadstools?
Because there isn't mush-room.

2. What is a pet rock's favourite cereal?
Coco rocks.

3. How do you get a baby rock to sleep?
Rock him.

Oh, I can't stand up any longer. Off to the bed cupboard with me. Linedancer, Head Prefect, you are in charge of the meeting from here on. If I live, I shall return next week. If I die, take care of the pet rocks for me, everyone. Your wretched friend, Madge Dumpling.

Nettle crisis alert!

2012-01-29T15:15:00.003Z

Your Chairman, Madge Dumpling. Her latest portrait.

In you come, brave Rubble Clubbers! Even in the depths of winter, here you are, pulling out all the stops to satisfy your pet rocks many, many essential needs. You know how much they love having their weekly reunion with their friends and ancestors here in Stone Quarry Cottage in the land of Undergrowby. And secretly you love it too, don't you? And you never know what pearls of wisdom you might learn here on the fascinating subject of pet rock care, do you? And that's thanks to me, Madge Dumpling, world-famous pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club. If you are a new member, find yourself a seat and help yourself to the crunchy buffet over there on the sideboard. Pop your little pets on the mantelpiece to play with my own pet rocks, their old friends and family. (That means, for those who are confused,..sit them on the edge of your computer and let them imagine their way on to the mantelpiece. They are good readers and very obedient, and will do exactly what I say.)

Madge Dumpling doll knitted by Linda

First, the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnock, Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter for the Rubble Club, is looking for a job again. Constantly thwarted by employers, who seem not to care how many pet rocks depend on her getting and keeping a good job, she still resists despair and refuses to be idle. As we speak she is over there on the prefects' couch bravely and ferociously knitting matching blue and white scarves for her pet rock football supporting pet rocks. So, Rubble Clubbers, if anyone in or around Kilmarnock needs an excellent knitter who is very good at upholding rules and dependable at keeping order, resists despair in the face of hardship and has a thorough grounding in the ways of the Undergrowby gnomes, I can give you her address. She is so often in Blackpool, she might even consider a week-on, week-off job here in Blackpool, and perhaps she could volunteer to be a free bus conductor for the Dodds of Troon bus so her travel would be free.

Jake the Rubble Club's Chief Magician, (who looks like he will be winning the January competition as he is the only entrant), wrote to say all is well in his pet rockery. If and when you get your prize, Jake, the magic will be hotting up over there in York, I am sure. Ah, pet rocks always love to watch us open our prizes, don't they? Especially when it's pet rock paraphernalia!

And while we 're on the subject of magic, let's get on with the main theme of the meeting, my weekly lecture. Today I am alerting you all to the magical importance (and shortage) of nettles here in Blackpool. If you have no nettles in your garden or window-boxes, plant some immediately. It will soon be spring and you want the roots to be in before then, so you can have those young spring leaves for your magic strengthening potions. It is common knowledge that apart from a naughty pet rock, there's nothing like a nettle bed for warding off intruders. Those pointed white hairs on their stems are as good as an army of swordsmen. Plant an extra nettle plant in a pot so you can bring it indoors in case of magical emergency (an unwanted guest). All you have to do to get rid of somebody you don't like (anybody who doesn't like pet rocks) without being rude is say "How do you like my new pet rock-owner's magic plant? It's supposed to be lucky to touch it. Then, just after they have touched it and got stung, say "But only if you're a pet rock owner." To show you are not totally selfish, offer them your naughtiest, grumpiest pet rock to take home as an antidote to the rash. One look at its face and they'll drop it and be off like a shot. Thank your nettle plant and give it a drop of water.

nice male nettle flower
(gnome's eye view)

Now, returning to the subject, ....since Undergrowby has moved to the magical land of Blackpool, I and the rest of the Growbies have noticed that our staple diet of golden nettle roots is in desperately short supply because there are no nettles anywhere! People won't plant them in case they sting the visitors. Our supplies of chopped, dried nettle roots from the middle of nowhere, whence we came, are nearly done. Granny Gray planted a few tubs and hanging baskets with nettles for us but that is not enough. We and the other wild creatures of Blackpool are getting sick of chips and peppermint rock and we need more nettles. Infuriatingly, late last year, some of our pet rocks' pet butterflies and caterpillars have already emigrated to the countryside and are refusing to return till more nettles are planted. If all you Rubble Clubbers would plant just one tub of nettles each that would be enough. We Growbies are happy to collect their seeds and sprinkle them far and wide, but first, you need to take action. You will know that you have succeeded in reversing our magical food-shortage when the first of the returning peacock butterflies settles on your own personal magic nettle patch. In return, you will have good luck for a whole year, and as many nettle sandwiches as you can eat!
Next week I will be sharing some nice magical nettle recipes for you and showing Linda from Kilmarnock how to make yellow wool from nettle stems. Well, what do you think my nice yellow hat is made from? Yes! Nettles!

This weekend has been the pigeon fanciers weekend in Blackpool and my dear friend Limpy the Promenade pigeon is depressed because there is no 'disabled pigeon' section for him to enter, so I have been trying to find ways of distracting him till the pigeon fanciers leave town. That is why he is over there, perched on top of the Head Prefect, Linedancer's, cowboy hat, eating rock cake crumbs from the back of the couch. Next, to take his mind off things, I am going to be demonstrating how to make pet rock and pigeon-sized valentines, because it will soon be that time again.
Until next week then, I remain your eternally busy Chairman and self-sacrificing little friend, Madge Dumpling.

2012-01-22T14:38:00.000Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers and welcome to another delightful club day out for you and your little pets here at Stone Quarry Cottage in the land of Undegrowby. Here on the right you will all be relieved to see that all my nagging has finally paid off, and Jake, our dutiful Head magician, has made his pet rocks' life complete (in that squeaky-clean, dust-free and gravel-free house of his, so unlike my own) by providing them with their own gloriously dusty, gravel-bedecked world-in-a-tray. He tells me that they love it! (It's home from home, Jake, that's why they love it). You should try it yourself, go on, sprinkle a bit on your bedroom floor. There'll be a nice homely crunch, crunch crunch noise when you walk on it. And now, how about a tall slab of that nice York stone in the background? Or a dry stone wall? Or a portrait of me? Your mum will thank you, I'm sure, when she sees your new floor-to-ceiling rocky feature in the corner of the dining room.
And, more post,.... I had a pretty little illustrated letter from Phoebe, who, thanks to Grandad Gray's range of illnesses and faulty priorities, is still waiting for her new rubble club email address.(I am awarding you a prefect's badge for your patience, Phoebe. Just ask Granny Gray for it next time you are in the shop.) Move along the prefects' couch, prefects, let Phoebe squeeze in! She's been promoted! Linda from Kilmarnock, move your knitting bag, that's it. On the couch you go, Phoebe. You're a prefect now. We'll soon find out what your special talents are and give you a proper job. Linda, for instance, is the Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter. Jake is the Head Magician. Linedancer is the Head Prefect and cowboy-hatted dancing teacher.
At the moment, according to her letter, Phoebe is collecting a nice neat folder of her favourite pet rock photos. She has got a picture of Jake's Christmas stall and Daniel's rock garden in it so far. Now I expect she has got the photos of Jake's gravel-tray-world in it too. Be thinking what you are good at, Phoebe, and what your special Rubble Club job can be.

And now on to the news. The new Storyteller's Corner in Gynn Gardens is finished. A man with a noisy chain saw made some mushroom seats and a big book-shaped chair last Thursday in the freezing cold (but still sunny) Blackpool breeze. I wanted the seats to be made of stone, but chainsaws cannot get through stone, they told me. Rubbish! Despite my disappointment, I agreed to supervise the event and awarded the gardeners a pet rock each for their efforts. Sadly, they could not see me. It was as if I were invisible. Anyway, invisible or not, I have decided to supervise all their projects from now on with a small but sturdy team of my own, and get them to sprinkle a few of those top quality Undergrowby nettle seeds in every vegetable patch along the way. If you want to see where I and my invisible team may be, check out the Grow Blackpool section on the Groundwork website.
There is some talk about celebrity story-tellers being invited (at ridiculously great cost!) to Blackpool to tell stories in Gynn Gardens in the summer. What about me? I'm a celebrity! So when the weather gets warmer later in the year, Granny Gray is going to be told that she will be organising lots of story-telling sessions in there for all you Blackpool Rubble Clubbers. If those celebrity story-tellers turn up, she can shoo them away. I would do it myself but the story-teller's seat is made of wood (and on principle, I refuse to sit on anything but proper rock furniture). Granny Gray, on the other hand, will sit on anything, so it can be her job. More about that later when dates are fixed.
Perhaps Phoebe, you could be a part-time storyteller too. Print off my pet rock bedtime stories from the Rubble Club website, or make up some of your own. Have you got a few little friends who can sit still while you tell them pet rock stories? If not, sit your pet rocks on the stools. They love sitting still, and they love stories. The more of us Rubble Clubbers that sit on those seats with our pet rocks, the more impossible it will be for those expensive outside celebrities to get in. We'll show them! People should be spending their money on pet rocks, not celebrities and their unimportant stories about things that don't exist! Linda from Kilmarnock, next time you come to Blackpool, you and your knitting circle can occupy the seats for the week and tell each other pet rock knitting-related stories.
And, as I uncover the refreshment table so you can tuck in to my winter mixture nibbles and hot gravel tea, I will have to go because this afternoon I am having my portrait painted in various poses by a world-famous artist. Soon the walls of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, will be covered in Madge Dumpling portraits. The pet rocks will have their portraits up there too. I'll show them to you next week. They will probably fetch a fortune. Until then I remain your entertaining Chairman and supervising little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Making dreams come true

2012-01-15T17:08:00.000Z

Hello and welcome to all you pet rocks out there, sitting nicely beside your owners' computer screens. Here I am, Madge Dumpling, making sure your owners know all there is to know about keeping you healthy and happy. And welcome once again to all you pet rock-owning Rubble Clubbers and thank you for bringing your little pets along to another jolly heart-warming reunion with their old friends and family here at Stone Quarry Cottage in the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby.
There is no post this week, so we'll get straight on to business. The glittering Blackpool sun is streaming through the windows, warming up the windowsill pet rocks and reminding us that winter will soon be over and we need to be getting prepared for the year ahead. Here in Undergrowby our new year has not yet begun, and it will not begin till the first buds open on the blackthorn trees. Then, all the sleeping inhabitants of Undergrowby, (including my husband Malcolm, who , as I speak, is snoring away over there in his bed cupboard) will be woken up by Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector. After their long winter sleep they will jump out of their winter cocoons and get busy with the Spring Awakening Celebrations.
I, who have not slept a wink all winter, will be more than ready for the spring, and so will you, Rubble Clubbers. Last week we handed out new jobs to our pet rocks and they have had all week to think about it.
Now, things are getting more intense and serious.
Just as you all make your new year resolutions, so do your pet rocks, and it is up to you to support them in their bid to make their new year dreams come true. That's why, at this time of year, it's a good time to do a bit of New Year mask-making, a sort of magical practice invented by myself and kept top secret for the benefit of members of the Rubble Club.
And yes, we all know masks are just a front, but a front leads the way for the rest. And as you think, so you become. If they think they look different, they might think differently, and then , watch out!. Put a pet rock's dream picture for itself on display for all to see, and it can change their image a little bit. And as pet rocks are not quick to change, a little bit is better than nothing.
For instance, if one of your pet rocks looks a bit unintelligent, and wants to prove itself as a bit of a brain-box this year, make it an intelligent-looking mask, perhaps with frown lines and thin lips. If one of them is unpopular, make it a mask with your pet rock's smiley face in the middle and lots of other pet rock faces glued round it, keeping it company for a change.

It's up to you to do a bit of pet rock whispering and find out what your pet rock's dreams might be. You just have to be patient, look into its eyes and listen to its silent little voice. You have to imagine you can hear it somewhere in the middle of your head. I call it 'stone-hearing' as opposed to 'stone deaf'. When it comes to pet rock whispering, what at first seems to take for ever, once you have practiced again and again becomes second nature. Your imagination proves itself to be not imagination at all, but the voice of your rocky little pal. And then you know you have arrived at last in the land of Undergrowby, and from now on you will be in for all sorts of treats and lucky happenings.
By the way, Rubble Clubbers, this magic mask-making thing works for us too. It also works for pigeons, like my friend Limpy the Promenade pigeon, but sadly, pigeons always choose crazy, impossible things to wish for. Limpy said he wants to become a rabbit this year, and of course not even one of my own Dumpling magical masks can help him with that. Pet rocks are much more sensible in their ambitions, and so should you be. My own mask is surrounded by stars and it has a halo on top. I have the same one every year. It always works. That's why I'm world-famous and can do no wrong!

And now I must leave you. I have a lot of mask-making to do. If you want to watch me and copy my ideas you will have to make yourselves useful. Someone nip into the Spar shop next door but one and fetch us some nibbles and snacks. Someone put the kettle on for the gravel tea. Well, I can't do everything. Somebody sweep these messy bits of torn paper will you? I don't mind gravel being everywhere, but I draw the line at shredded paper. It's just not how I like things! No, wait a minute, stay where you are prefects, I've had an idea. Jake, the Rubble Club's Magician, come over here and show us how to make these shreds of paper disappear, will you? ......Oh no, they've all turned into playing cards! ....Prefects, here's the brush. Mind you don't disturb the tastefully arranged gravel..
Till next week, I'll be quiet now. Watch carefully. I remain your overworked Chairman and unstoppable little friend, Madge Dumpling.

No dozing off!

2012-01-08T14:43:00.001Z

JAKE'S RUBBLE HOUSE

VIEW OF MY PARLOUR EARLIER

Hello, pet rocks, my darlings, and hello to your thoughtful owners who have brought you here into my cosy parlour once again for our weekly extravaganza here at the Rubble Club. I am your Chairman and world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling, as always, here to help. As I deliver my lecture this week I shall be dishing out some of these lovely photos of his new Rubble House, with outside toilet, taken by Jake, the Rubble Club's Chief Magician, who is sitting over there on the prefects' couch spreading the photos all over the buffet table. (Jake's own home, as you can see from that shiny black table top, is a little over-cleaned and would benefit from ....and this is today's top tip.......; a shovelful of gravel thrown up in the air once a week in the middle of the room. That's the best way to achieve that fabulously rubbletastic interior decor look like I have, (shown above left) here in Stone Quarry Cottage.)

CLOSE-UP

Jake has entered the pet rock joke competition, but I am not telling you his joke till later in the month, when some more entries have come in, so as not to give others an unfair advantage. When all the entries are in, I will share them all with you and give you a week to vote, along with the shop customers. You can enter as many jokes as you like. and the winner will win some gorgeous pet rock paraphernalia, as usual.
I had another sensational Christmas card, this one from Madelaine and Anna, two pretty little Rubble Clubbers from Blackpool, and it had a photo on it, of their pet rocks on a Christmas skiing holiday in France. They are going to bring some more photos in to the shop for Granny Gray to copy on to the computer so we can get some nice clear pictures for you to see what a magical time their pet rocks had this Christmas.
But now Christmas and new year are over, we have to stop our pet rocks from dozing off through boredom. My top tip for this is to give them something to think about. No, I'm not going to tell you to read them pet rock stories from morning to night, no, there's more to life than unbridled amusement. We all have to be useful in this life. Goodness knows, when it comes to being useful, I hope I am a glowing role model to my pet rocks. I am as useful as can be! And so must you be, Rubble Clubbers, then when you tell your pet rocks to get on with their work, they won't be wondering what you are doing in that department. Pet rocks, for their own self-respect, need to know they are earning their keep.

JAKE'S HOUSE'S TOILET(with nobody in charge)

And so, it's time to give them all new jobs before the 'winter droop' sets in. Perk them up mentally by inventing new jobs for them, new challenges the like of which they have never tackled before. For instance, whichever pet rocks were in charge of money luck last year, put them in charge of warding off the east wind, floods or stray fireworks. Whichever was in charge of spreading good cheer last year, put them in charge of, say, remembering birthdays or attracting new friends. Put one in charge of the pet rock toilet and one in charge of the pet rock swing, one in charge of the pet rock babies, etc., etc., it's endless what careers a pet rock can have, even without arms and legs. Give them all the tools, lists and timetables they need and you'll be surprised how well they work for you. They will have a great time getting on with it, till next year, when you can swap the jobs around again. Some jobs are more glamorous and it's only fair to share the glory around.
If I could share my own jobs around I would(I'm not selfish) but I'm sure you will agree, nobody would be able to do them quite like me. So, so much depends upon my being in charge, doesn't it? Unless someone else thinks they can be a better Chairman than me, in which case, write to me, tell me why and I'll consider your application. I must warn you though that such impudent applications, if they ever dare to be posted, might well get mysteriously 'lost' in the post.

UPSTAIRS

And now I will leave you, with a special thank you to Jake for this week's amazingly in-focus pictorial entertainment. And, I might add, with no thanks whatsoever to Tea Boy Bob for heartlessly refusing to chauffeur me up and down the country in his shiny new car. Instead, on my many Scottish mountain pet rock-finding expeditions, I and my Scottish rock samples will still have to rattle around in the luggage compartment of the the Dodds of Troon bus. Even his wife Linda, who is coming to Blackpool again soon, cannot get him to risking bringing the car to Blackpool in case I sneak into it, insist on a chauffeured tour of the Promenade, waving at my friends the pigeons, followed by an afternoon in Stanley Park and then perhaps a pleasure trip for the pet rocks on the Fleetwood model boating lake. I could even pop back to Scotland for a couple of days when they return. But no ...it's at times like these when you find out who your real friends are. It seems most unfair to me that a pet rock -whispering genius like me, whom anyone would be glad to drive round in their car, can be made to feel like an encumbrance. Well it had to be said.
It's not as if I am not used to it, however. Grandad Gray with his heart trouble, his bad back, his indigestion and his headaches, will never get his car out of the garage either! It's a good job I have an indomitable spirit and two strong little legs to carry me.Until a willing limousine owner turns up, perhaps next week, I shall remain your devoted Chairman and eternally cheerful little friend, Madge Dumpling.

A new year winner!

2012-01-01T15:32:00.001Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers, this is Madge Dumpling here. Well done, you have successfully posted yourself and your pet rocks back into my cosy parlour for another jolly shindig here at Stone Quarry Cottage. I know you think it's new year, and are expecting me to have some special new year treat for you, but really, it's not Undergrowby's new year till the first buds open on the blackthorn trees, and that will not be for several weeks yet, so you will have to wait. No, for now, we will all sit around shivering, filling hot water bottles, lighting chip papers in the fireplace, drinking gravel tea and listening to me chatting on about those most adorable little creatures in the world, the pet rocks.

But first, an announcement. At the last minute I had an entry in for the December competition form Jake, the Rubble Club's Chief Magician, who managed to escape from Germany and return to us last week. If you remember, the subject of the competition was to create a market stall for a pet rock market, filled with something you think pet rocks would love. This is what Jake came up with, and I can tell you Jake, the pet rocks thought it was sensational! And so did I! Well done, your prize will be on its way to the post office as soon as I can pluck up courage to go outdoors in this frightening weather and risk catching a wind-related illness. (After all, you know by now what a sulky martyr I can be when I'm ill, so I'm taking no risks.) Here's Jake's pet rock Christmas card stall, complete with stall-holder and festive snow, Rubble Clubbers, what do you think?
Now, the weeks ahead will be hard for your pet rocks. All the fun and festivities are over, the window-sills are miserable places for them to sit, watching the rain and wind wearing the house bricks away, so keep them away from the window-sills, for heaven's sake. Their spirits will start to get the 'winter droop' if you don't. Turn their backs to the outside world, light another chip on the fire and get the pet rock story book out. If you haven't got a pet rock story book, make up some pet rock stories of your own, about sunshine or fire or anything hot and cheerful. How about some pet rock jokes? And, as it happens, that's the next competition, Rubble Clubbers. Invent as many pet rock jokes as you can, but make them good. We want quality, not quantity. Even if it's only one joke, it might still win if the joke is funny enough. Let's see who is the Rubble Club's new comedy genius. You can illustrate them if you like. Pictures always help, cartoons, photos, whatever you like. If we get more than one entry, the shop customers will judge the winner.

Now, breaking news,....On the 9th of January there is an event in Gynn Gardens, Blackpool, a chain saw sculptor will be entertaining anyone who turns up, with a view to creating a storytelling corner in the south west corner of the gardens. Interestingly, that is exactly the corner I suggested to the head gardener it should be in, because on the map of Undergrowby, that's where the Undergrowby Storyteller, Estrella Star, lives, beside her magic bonfire. (If you want a cloth map of Undergrowby {6.50}and /or a Map of Mysteries book (8.50) complete with playing tools, which will tell you where you belong on the map and guide your destiny, ring Granny Gray on 01253 353800, and she will organise it. Postage is extra, at cost. (I might even volunteer to take it to the post office myself, when I go to post off Jake's prize.)
. Now, Estrella has no idea about what's happening in Gynn Gardens on the 9th of January, so perhaps I could apply for the job of storyteller while she is asleep in her bed cupboard along with all the other dozy Growbies. I am just round the corner, after all, and I have lots of stories of my own, better than hers, as I'm sure anyone in their right mind would agree. When she wakes up, remember, not a word!

This is her, left, with her friend, Jig the Juggler and his Blackpool Sunshine Bugs,(and not a pet rock in sight) planning to open a gallery not far from here in the caves of the Rocky Headlands. So if you see her walking round Gynn Gardens later in the year, showing off in her sequins and seagull feathers, and asking everyone where the storyteller's corner is, don't answer her. It will be our little secret.
On to the post bag. Linda from Kilmarnock and Tea Boy Bob have got a new car so I shall not be needing to catch the Dodds of Troon coach next time I visit her. Tea Boy Bob will be chaffeuring me instead. And about time too.
Well, the fire is spluttering and I quite understand if you are too chilly to stay any longer. If I can summon the strength later in the week, I will get out of my winter cocoon and nip round to the bin for another few chip papers for next week, but until then I remain your heroic Chairman and shivering little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Snow Scene

2011-12-24T13:18:00.000Z

Happy Christmas, Rubble Clubbers! And a specially happy Christmas to all your rocky little pets!And thank you to Hannah Pook ( pictured on the right) for that lovely card ( too big for the mantelpiece so I am using it as a festive tablecloth for the buffet table). My gossipy neighbours, the Promenade Pigeons, (see cartoon below) predicted that no one would come to the meeting today, but I always knew you would come.
Tea Boy Bob, (who, thoughtlessly, has a prior family catering appointment far away in Scotland), has sent me a bottle of his Tartan Tea ingredient so the gravel tea can once again be extra special today. Under its potent influence, the pet rocks are wobbling around on the mantelpiece, awaiting your delightful company and my nose, appropriately festively, is glowing bright red. Help yourselves to a frosted chip from the 'tree' and a minced-up pie from the buffet while you read the festive picture story below, about my real-life exploits this week.

And before you ask where my 'Found Goods' cupboard is, I can tell you it is hidden under a slab somewhere, somewhere very secret, guarded by a gang of naughty pet rocks, so don't bother looking round here for that stuff of yours that went missing a few Rubble Club meetings ago. It could be anywhere.I have no idea where it is. If it's gone, it's gone. Don't be selfish.
Anyway, moving on, here we are again in this picturesque feather-bedecked parlour of mine and I'm delighted to see that you have all been given new pet rocks for Christmas this year, and new pet rock houses too. Thanks from the bottom of my heart to all of you who have spent lots of time and money at the pet rock department of the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool. Thanks to you, we here in Stone Quarry Cottage shall survive for another year. But then, what would you do without me to advise you and the pet rocks to befriend you and bring you good luck? You'd be lost, I know, so it's money well spent, you'll be thinking, and you'd be right.
And now we'll have a game of 'hunt the pet rocks under the feathers', shall we? As you pluck away the feathers from all around the parlour, just pop them in these paper bags I found in my cupboard, marked "Christmas Feathers". Thank you. We'll soon have this parlour cleaned up. No, leave the gravel and grit where it is. (That's how the pet rocks like it.)
And next, as Linda from Kilmarnoch stirs the gravel tea, I will sing you a little tea-making song. "Rubble bubble, cast out trouble,............Gravel tea, make mine a double!"
Come on, join in, Rubble Clubbers! Let's have a toast to pet rocks everywhere! "Rubble bubble, cast out trouble...... Gravel tea, make mine a double!" I'll clap while you all carry on. Linedancer, get the pet rock line-dancing team lined up and off you go! Keep singing everyone! Oh, it's turning into a fabulous party.
And now, while no one will notice, I will sneak out with my ladder to the litter bin on Dickson Road to fetch a few more greasy chip papers for the fire. (You always forget something at Christmas, don't you?) Until next week, when I will announce the competition winner, (which looks like it will be me), I remain your festive Chairman and red-nosed little friend, Madge Dumpling

Hatch out the Spring!

2011-12-18T12:59:00.000Z

Hello, Rubble Clubbers, once again you are through to me, Madge Dumpling, your own world-famous pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club.

Just think, if there were no Rubble Club, there would be nowhere for all you pet rock owners and your rocky little pets to meet up and pick my brain on matters relating to pet rock welfare. However, thanks to our magic laptops, we and our pet rocks can find our way through those invisible tunnels in cyber space, tunnels that somehow make everyone the same size and here we are all together again in my eleven-inch-high cosy, grit-strewn parlour with our pet rocks playing together merrily on the mantelpiece. Help yourselves to gravel tea and minced-up pies(a festive treat). You will be relieved to hear that I have successfully fought off a terrible germ which the wind blew my way last week and am now back on form and, thanks to Jake the Magician's and Linda from Kilmarnoch's letters of support, I am out of the bed cupboard and back in the kitchen churning out festive gravel for the pet rocks' Christmas dinner. Sit yourselves down on the prefects' couch, Jake and Linda. I've plumped up the rock cushions and sprinkled some fresh grit on it for you by way of saying thank you. Jake has been to Germany to a Christmas market, getting foreign ideas for his competition-entry pet rock market stall. So far no one has entered the 'design and photograph a winning pet rock market stall' competition, which ends next week and so it looks like I'll be winning the prize myself once again.
Now, as you all know, here in the land of Undergrowby, everyone apart from me and Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector, go to sleep for the winter in order to hatch out the Spring, so there is no such thing as Christmas here. However, since we have been mixing with you humans and your funny little ways, the pet rocks have cottoned-on to Christmas and its many advantages for them. Before they were introduced to Christmas parties, minced-up pies, Christmas trimmings, Christmas presents, red and white hats and festive gravel, winter was very long and lonely indeed, so it has now become 'our festive little secret', and I give it my official approval. We can concentrate on patiently hatching out the Spring later, or better still, let somebody else do that. I'm too busy.
And so, here is my recipe for festive gravel pet rock food, (for those of you who cannot afford to buy some from the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool); 1.Take a handful of gravel and divide it in two.
2. Paint one half of the gravel green and the other half red. 3. Leave to dry. 4. Mix red and green together and garnish with a sprinkle of glitter just before serving.
I know, it's junk food, what with all that paint, and your pet rocks probably won't eat it, but the main thing is, they will have had their own festive Christmas dinner so they weren't left out. When Christmas is over, remove it and save it in a safe place for next year. Make a special box for it, a festive little box, clearly labelled 'Christmas dinner' . Making these Christmas dinner boxes is what you must do on the day after Christmas,... Boxing day. That's why it's called Boxing day. And when the boxing is done, the pet rocks will be glad to see their familiar old dusty, crunchy food bowl back in place where it belongs. Ah, they're so easy to please!

And now, for your festive entertainment, a couple of cartoons from a few years ago. It's about the Christmas space-man who, since that time, pops in every year for a minced-up pie and a cup of gravel tea. He's over there on the prefects' couch as I speak, chatting away politely to the prefects. When he leaves, I always give him a sack-full of orphans to deliver to those good, kind children out there in cyber-space, who have never had a pet rock.

And with that, I will leave you until next week, which will be Christmas weekend. I remain your hale and hearty Chairman and festive little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Germs !

2011-12-11T12:55:00.000Z

Yoo hoo! Hello Rubble Clubbers! Can you hear me over here in the bed cupboard? My body has been invaded by the north east wind and I am terribly ill. The bed-cupboard door is shut (for your health and safety, Rubble Clubbers..), and I am not going to open it till my nose stops running. So, as there is no buffet and no fire lit in my cosy parlour, and all the pet rocks are in here with me, I quite understand if you all want to go home and come back next week, by which time I will have conquered the germs, or my name is not Madge Dumpling.
Luckily, there has been no mail this week, so there is nothing to read out. Let's hope there is plenty of mail later this week to cheer me up. Now, play among yourselves, light the fire and put the kettle on if you like, but please keep the noise down. I am ill, but not too ill to be concentrating on writing my next pet rock bedtime story while I am locked away here in the cupboard.

For your entertainment I have laid out the close ups of Eleanor's dolls' house. This is my favourite room, the Blackpool football supporting tangerine pet rocks' room with its glittering array of hat stands. If you are a Blackpool football supporter and want a tangerine pet rock, go to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool or email my doddery old shopkeeper, grannygray@therubbleclub.co.uk..
And now, until next week(if I have conquered the germs) this is me saying goodbye. I, who need my rest, am your invisible Chairman and sniffing little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Left out again!

2011-12-05T15:16:00.001Z

All right, all right, you can come in now. I've nearly finished sulking, and anyway I need someone to help me unpack all these trolleys.
Rubble Clubbers, it's hard for me to talk about it, but if you remember, last week I told you that I was going to a big Christmas market in Towneley Hall, Burnley, yesterday (Sunday). So you only have yourselves to blame if your dedication got the better of you and you turned up at my door expecting me to lay on one of my fabulous buffets for the Rubble Club meeting, even when I was supposed to be far away hard at work. Anyway, as it happens, I could hear you all knocking on the door yesterday because I was indeed actually here all the time but I was too upset to receive guests. And who wouldn't be?
I was up at the crack of dawn yesterday packing my trolleys with life-saving equipment in case we got lost before we got to Towneley Hall,(and had to survive in the wild) but when the van arrived to take us to the market, Granny Gray refused to let me go with her. She said I had too much stuff and it wouldn't all fit into the van. She said it was already full of magic wands and pet rock paraphernalia. I was furious!
"Leave all those magic wands behind, then! Then I'll fit in!" I protested. I was adamant. Which was more important anyway, me or the magic wands? I refused to go without my tent, sleeping bag, fluff, water carrier, gravel, medical remedies, year's supply of food, building materials and 'Lost! Return to Blackpool!' signposts. After all, it had taken me a week to pack it all.
"Oh, come on Madge!" she shouted rudely from the van door, "We're going to be late! If you don't be quick, we'll go without you!"
I clamped myself down onto one of the biggest trolleys, folded my arms and screwed up my eyes. That usually works, but this time it didn't. Granny Gray was just about to reconsider her position when to her surprise, the bossy van driver came round and shut the van door and then they sped off along Dickson Road without me. I ran after them pushing my smallest trolley shouting 'Stop! All right then. Go on. I'll just take this one trolley then!" and the van started to slow down. I nearly caught them up but as they swung round the corner it sped up again, leaving me standing there on the zebra crossing in the dark, alone, huffing and puffing.
So that was that.
You can see why I was forced to sulk for a long, long time, and only now can I gather all my strength and willpower in order to go on. If I had only known that I would not have been included in that market tour, I could have made other plans. I could have joined that nice party of ladies led by Linda from Kilmarnoch, perhaps for cocktails at the Boston Hotel. (Linda's cocktail parties are always fertile ground for a cocktail umbrella hunt). But after what happened, my heart would not have been in it. You would think Tea Boy Bob might have been sent-for to revive me with a cup of his speciality tea, but no, not even he could be bothered to get a bus from Kilmarnock to come and cajole me round in my hour of need.
Moving on from what cannot be allowed to be the source of lasting misery, I have heard that Jake, the Rubble Club's Head Magician (and his pet rocks),will soon be arriving in Germany. Jake's fortunes have taken a turn for the better since he appeared here at the Rubble Club. Now, he seems to have become a successful international performer, jetting off with his pet rocks to tour all over Germany. He will, I hope, be sending us some lovely photos of his pet rocks relaxing in a posh cake shop/cafe between performances of the 'Jake and His Pet Rocks' Magic Show' (soon to become a film, or T.V. series if I have anything to do with it). And I will be his glamorous assistant, in between all my other jobs.

Next, here is a lovely picture from Eleanor who has given her pet rocks the home of their dreams, a dolls' house. The dolls, who were always busy on their mobile phones, have moved out and the pet rocks have a friendly helper who has nicely got rid of all the dolls' house dolls by banning mobile phones.Look, she has made a placard saying 'Stop! No mobile phones beyond this point!' Good idea, Eleanor. Less mobile phones, more room for pet rocks. I am breathless with delight at your lovely pet rock accommodation, Eleanor. Very well done! If anybody else wants a dolls' house for their pet rocks, you can buy one at that nice dolls' house shop near Blackpool South Station on Waterloo Road.
All right now, when you're ready, everybody find a trolley and start to unpack. We'll soon have everything back in place where it belongs. Well I know that you Rubble Clubbers, (like myself), like to be useful and I daresay you can't wait to see what my life-saving survival equipment looks like. Put things wherever you like, Rubble Clubbers. There's no system here. I'll just have a little sit down, do a bit of pet rock whispering and let you all enjoy yourselves.
And until next week, that's all from me, your brave Chairman and cheerful little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Friends to the rescue!

2011-11-27T17:02:00.001Z

You can stop worrying about me now, Rubble Clubbers. The wind has dropped a bit and I'm still here. I daresay I was never far from your thoughts this week in all that wind, was I? You all know about the dodgy dustbin lid roof that I have perched on top of my charming little Stone Quarry Cottage, don't you? No? Well, I used to have a leaky but nice stone roof but it collapsed and Grandad Gray cruelly refused to build me another. Instead he stuck a plastic dustbin lid on top of my house and said "There you are, that won't leak now." My husband Malcolm, who had fought many a battle with the leaks in the old roof, congratulated Grandad Gray as if he had done us a great favour. I never liked it myself. Horrid!
Well, despite being weighted down with bricks, the Blackpool breeze was so strong this week that the ugly old lid lifted right up in the air and nearly flew off again, leaving me exposed to the elements. Bang! Clap! Up and down it flapped with every gust of gale force breeze. My husband Malcolm, asleep and snoring in his bed cupboard, was deaf to my screams. Luckily my friends the Promenade pigeons heard it and came to the rescue. Braving the dangerous weather, in they flew and the whole flock of them, (directed by my truly special friend and informant, Limpy the one-footed pigeon). On Limpy's command a few of them landed plonk on top of the bin lid. Sadly, that was not enough, it still flapped, so more flew in and perched on top of them, then another layer on top of them, till the heap of pigeons was taller than the back yard wall. And that did it! The flapping stopped. I suspected that the weather was in for a couple of days, so quickly, I set about baking the P. Ps (Promenade Pigeons) a fresh batch of rock cakes to keep them on the job. Well, it's the least I could do when they had risked their lives for me. It's at times like these that you find out who your friends are!
I left it to them to hold the roof down all day yesterday while I popped out to collect my rock samples, and thanks to them the house was still intact when I came back. They were glad to see me, especially as I had brought with me a trolley full of cold chips that I had picked up off the Prom. Like Mother Earth herself, I threw handfuls of them up into the air into the pigeon pyramid. (I knew they were good catchers, and anyway, I didn't want to risk any of them swooping down on to the trolley and leaving the roof to the mercy of the wind.) It was a great game but no matter how skillfully I threw, I noticed some of them were getting left out. So just to make sure every one of them got a chip, I fetched my ladder, staggered up it in the violent breeze and hand-fed the ones getting trampled and forgotten in the middle. But that's me, unselfish, even in the wind. I'm a born caterer, as you all know. And a martyr.
Linda from Kilmarnoch, the Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter for the Rubble Club, is coming to Blackpool next week to stock up on orphans. Linda, don't forget Granny Gray is doing a market with me in Townley Hall, Burnley, on Sunday 4th December so the shop might not be open that day. If you want to see where we are going, search on your computer for www.the-magic-of-christmas.com . We will be in the Regency Room, a red room with a Santa's Grotto.

Hotel > £45.00

And now, by special request from our hard-working Jake, the Rubble Club's Chief Magician, here are some pictures of pet rock houses so if you want one, you can ring us up 01253 353800 and reserve one. There is only one of each, so when they're gone, they're gone. Above, the pet rock tea room, front view, showing table for 4 and pet rock waiter and back view(smaller pic below , showing the detachable slide for the kiddies, just blu-tack it in place wherever you like).£50.00
Next, a wide pet rock house with lots of handy hidey-holes and verandas house, enough room for a large family of rocks. £35.00
I have taken lots of photos of many more houses, all sorts of prices, also a pet rock school with headmaster, owls, desk and books but they all turned out black. Grandad Gray says I pressed the wrong buttons and he has snatched the camera away from me. Tomorrow, when he is not looking I will borrow it again and add more photos for you tomorrow night. Then, I daresay the phone will be ringing non-stop and I will be rushing up and down to the post office again and again with gigantic pet rock houses balancing on my trolley, one after the other. Still, it's all in a good cause.
Jake, I will email them all to you first. You need a house desperately on that windowsill of yours, I know. There is bound to be something you can afford somewhere. Wait till you get your email. Don't be put off by these expensive ones.
And now I must go and have a rest before it all kicks off. Tuck into the buffet, Rubble Clubbers, and if the breeze gets a bit strong, some of you had better go outside and sit on the roof just in case. Until next week I remain your brave Chairman and pigeon-fancying friend, Madge Dumpling.

Here are the other houses currently in stock.

2 piece house(house above, cave below)
27.00

Pet rock Inspector(3 pieces, house, wizard,
grumpy rock) 23.50

2 storey house with shed 17.50

house with lean-to, outside toilet and ladder 30.00

beach hut with empty sign..name it yourself 20.00

Happy heart house(small, about 4 inches) 7.50

Viewing gallery12.00

happy house and annexe
23.00

school (below) with headmaster rock, his desk with books, stars, sweets. owl's nest on roof,
2 owls blu tacked outside toilet (Poor photo, it's better in real life) 60.00

house with
loose door, 2 floors.12.95

Postage will be at cost by first class mail. Thank you. Granny Gray will deal with it. grannygray@therubbleclub.co.uk

Is everyone asleep? Well I'm not!

2011-11-20T11:36:00.001Z

Wake up Rubble Clubbers! Stop turning into Undergrowby gnomes! It might now officially be winter, and the Undergrowby gnomes(except for me and Clockit Quick, the Time and Tide Inspector) go to sleep for the winter, but please remember you are not one of us. You are humans and your pet rocks are wide awake and expecting you to keep turning your computers on so they can see what's going on here at the Rubble Club Meeting. So you have to stay awake!
I'm forgetting my manners. Hello, all you invisible Rubble Clubbers out there. I am the world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club. Do make yourselves at home in my cosy parlour. You can even sit on the prefects' couch if you like, seeing as there are no prefects in attendance. Indeed, if you are here, and can prove it by writing me a little letter, I might even promote you to prefect and give you a little prefect's badge. Try it and see. Email me at madgedumpling@therubbleclub.co.uk. You see, I am short of mail at the moment. Unbelievably, no one has written to me this week so I have no mailbag news to read out to you.

All the Growbies (except for me and Mr Quick) nodded off to sleep the other day. That morning the scorching Blackpool sun disappeared behind a cloud for a few moments, allowing the White Mist to fall briefly.(See last week's meeting for details of what the White Mist is all about.) I rushed out with my trolley full of rock cakes and orphans in the direction if the sweet shop.

Annoyingly, I first bumped into Hazel Twigg from the Plantation. She was waiting at the end of my path. She grabbed the rock cakes(who can blame her?) and forced a load of her spare plants upon me. (Plants! Rubbish!) I only had orphans left in my swapping trolley after that. Old Pop Boulder, the sweetshop owner and Undergrowby sweet-maker, was struggling down the hillside with his basket of sweets. I could hear him clattering down the steps. I waited at the bottom of the hill with my trolley parked across his path so he could not help bumping into it. To save him further trouble I took all his sweets off him and filled his basket with orphan pet rocks in return. We shook hands, wished each other a good sleep and returned to our homes.
When I say sweets, I mean Undergrowby sweets, not that sugary stuff like Blackpool rock. Undergrowby sweets are made of roots. We have all sorts of roots in Undergrowby, sweet roots, plump roots, tangle roots, chunky roots, sticky roots, lucky roots, crispy roots, clamp roots, juicy roots, and so on. Because we spend a lot of time underground, we see a lot of roots and use them for all sorts of things,...food, medicine, building materials, hair ornaments, twine, yarn-spinning, glue, lucky charms, mattress-stuffing and so on.Old Pop Boulder makes sweet treats out of them. He chops them, boils them, mashes them, squeezes juice out of them, dries them, makes funny little shapes out of them and experiments with them like I do with my world-famous rock cakes.(That reminds me, help yourselves to the buffet, I won't be eating any of it today, I am on sweets for a change.) Roots are an earth element food, so are very comforting to nibble on when you are far from home, alone or feeling uncared-for and forgotten like I do at this moment. If you are thinking of entering this month's competition, which is making a pet rock's Christmas market stall complete with the produce of your choice, you might like to think about having a root stall.See how many different kinds of roots you can find. Don't forget to email photos of your entries to me at madgedumpling@therubbleclub.co.uk or grannygray@therubbleclub.co.uk .
Granny Gray, my doddery old shopkeeper and dogsbody, was nowhere to be found that day when the White Mist fell. I thought she had gone off on a swapping spree and got lost, but it seems she had sneaked off to the Grand Theatre to be awarded with a prize for a script-writing competition she had entered in the summer.Without me!! And when did she have time to be writing scripts, in between doing her long list of duties, I'd like to know? And what makes it worse, there is nobody else awake here for me to have a good spiteful gossip about her. Nothing to take my mind off it. After all I have done for her!
No wonder she didn't tell me about it. I might have entered a pet rock pantomime script of my own and beaten her to the first prize. At some point in the new year they will be performing her play at the Grand Studio Theatre. I shall be tailing her closely nearer the time, and introduce myself to her theatrical friends at the Grand. When they see how theatrically talented I am, I might be chosen to play the leading lady, in which case I shall be selling tickets and organizing a coach trip to it.
And now something is not quite right with my magic laptop so,.... that is all for today. Write to me, your dutiful Chairman and lonely, over-wintering little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Where's the White Mist?

2011-11-13T16:00:00.000Z

Come on in, Rubble Clubbers, sit down and help yourselves to my new experimental mince pies. (I'm perfecting the perfect recipe in time for Christmas. Try them all and tell me which you like best). I am your Chairman, Madge Dumpling, Master Baker, world-famous pet rock whisperer and acclaimed expert on all things related to pet rocks. I like to think I add that magical crunchy 'Dumpling touch' to everything I do.

Now, for those of you who joined the Rubble Club this year and are new to Undergrowby's age old traditions, let me tell you that we are in strange and difficult times here in Undergrowby. By now, the Undergrowby gnomes are usually winding down ready for their long winter sleep, which is brought on by the annual coming of the White Mist.
We get ready for it , like humans get ready for Christmas, with presents, visits to friends, feasts and freshly-stuffed clean sleeping cocoons and everything. Then, one magical morning, the White Mist appears on everyone's front doorstep, coming out of everyone's nostrils as they breathe. We go into a special deep-breathing routine, flapping our arms up and down in time with the breathing (see right, watch how I do it, breathe in, arms up, breathe out, arms down) to build up the mist so thick that you can't see your hand in front of your face, then everyone sets off down their path with their presents. The idea is that you exchange gifts with the first people you bump into, (so unless you are stupid, you try to set off in the direction of people who have all the good stuff, the sort of stuff that you like). I have my trolley packed with gifts galore (orphan pet rocks), ready to go in the direction of the sweet shop. Then, after the gifts have all gone, everyone staggers over to the bed-cupboard, into their nice fresh sleeping cocoon, and falls asleep for the entire winter. Except me of course. I have the Rubble Club to run day and night, all the year round after all. So, Rubble Clubbers, it's lucky I am not fond of sleeping the winter away like all the rest, isn't it? I am like the eternal flame that never dies. That's the Dumpling magic for you!
And so here we are, another Rubble Club meeting and still no White Mist. The Growbies are as tired and grumpy as can be, bags under their eyes, thinking the White Mist is coming but no, there's just the Blackpool sun shining away in the sky as usual. Last year the White Mist fell upon the earth the morning after the illuminations went out, and the world was plunged into darkness. It was fabulous,... but this year it is nowhere to be seen. At this rate, Linda from Kilmarnoch will be here for her winter holidays before it falls.
The last competition prizes have been collected except for Shannon's consolation prize, but someone will no doubt deliver it to you if you can't get here Shannon. If you want Granny Gray to post it to you, let me know.

The Mailbag. I have been sent a delightful album full of photos from Jake the Magician who received his magician's badge and runner's up prize this week. Here is a photo of his badge held up by Stonely, Jake's faithful umbrella-holding pet rock.
Jake's entire house, as you can see, is decorated with Jake's favourite thing next to pet rocks,...playing cards. (But sadly, no grit.)

Below right, Jakes newest pet rock with its pet worm and snail, in training for the post of magician's assistant, memorizing the two cards behind its back.

And left, Jake's pet rock family basking in the golden glow of another evening of magic tricks performed by Jake himself. Lucky, lucky rocks! Thank you for sharing your lovely jolly Yorkshire pet rock world with us Jake.
Rubble Clubbers, there are more pictures than these, but some were fuzzy, and about to disappear, (no doubt in the middle of a magic trick). When you live with Jake, you're either appearing or disappearing and very difficult to photograph.
So well done Jake!

Next, I daresay you are wondering what the tide has brought in this week. Well, as you know, every pet rock is different, but some have things in common, like families. There are spotty types, lumpy types, mouth breathers (the ones with open mouths), translucent whites, dark mysterious blacks, gold-diggers, slit-smiley eyed, naughty rocks, pink love-attractors, umbrella holders, hag stones, etc., etc., and during hatching this week I have notices that two distinct new types were washed in by the festive, firework-polluted tide. One (see right)is a small grey backed white, has pale pink tufts and is in great demand by the Promenade pigeon community because it looks like a baby pigeon. I call it the lesser-tufted chick-lookalike pet rock.

The other new type(see left) looks like a tropical glowing red, yellow and black humbug that has been in someone's pocket for too long and the stripes have gone wonky and some have even gathered a tuft of hairs. They seem to appeal to lovers of minty Blackpool rock, but luckily,like all pet rocks, they are quite inedible. Who knows from which tropical island they have travelled to get to us here in Blackpool? I do not speak any tropical languages so I call them hairy humbug pet rocks. It never ceases to amaze me when these new species turn up, then disappear again. I daresay there are many more species out there still to be discovered. Stick with me, Rubble Clubbers. I shall find them. They don't call me Madge Dumpling for nothing! But I must warn you, when they are gone from the tide's edge, they are gone, and who knows for how long? Perhaps for ever. I can only collect and hatch out what there is.
In case you were thinking of buying your pet rocks a nice White Mist gift and you are very rich, I can tell you that there are some nice big pet rock houses, a hotel an inn, a tea room and a school in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, near Gynn Square, Blackpool, priced from £20 to £50. I can email you some photos if you can't get here and want me to post you one to somewhere far away. Just write to Granny Gray, my packing and posting assistant and general dogsbody at grannygray@therubbleclub.co.uk and she will see to it.
Now, the next competition is to be announced. Let's pretend I am holding an imaginary pet rocks' Christmas Market and you are booking a stall at the event. I want you to think what pet rocks would love to buy and make lots of it, enough to fill a little stall. I'm not giving you any clues. You know your pet rocks. What would they like to see on the Christmas market? Make a market stall out of a brick or a pile of books covered in a cloth or something, then set out your wares and take a photo of the finished stall. Let's see who makes the nicest one. Everyone will win some pet rock paraphernalia and the winner will of course win the best thing. You have until Christmas to get your entries in. Send them to grannygray@therubble club.co.uk to save my precious time (well, she is never as busy as me). I will show you the entries as they come in. The winner will be announced on new year's day.
And with that I will leave you until next week, when the White Mist will surely have come and gone. I remain your deep-breathing, White-Mist-encouraging Chairman and well-prepared little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Bonfires done and dusted.

2011-11-06T14:03:00.000Z

Thank goodness bonfire night is over. Come on in, Rubble Clubbers while I tell you all about it. I am Madge Dumpling, your world-famous pet rock-whispering Chairman and this is my cosy parlour. Take a seat and help yourself from the buffet of left-over bonfire delights, half-eaten toffee crab apples, crunchy smoked parkin, crispy potato cakes and sandy sherbet bombs(sand and sherbet wrapped in blackened potato skins - shockingly delicious!)
Before I start, let me announce the competition winner.....it's Hannah Pook....., but it was close, so Shannon and Jake will win nice consolation prizes too. Now, perhaps you can concentrate on what I am saying because it is very important.
Now, as you all know, when it comes to entertaining my pet rocks, I always make an effort, and so should you. So, last night, bonfire night, we had a fabulous little bonfire party on the back patio. Malcolm built a ring of broken bricks and the pet rocks were perched safely on top of the ring, . Then, in the middle of the ring, in one of Granny Gray's best baking dishes, he lit a little fire from chip papers, worn-out cocktail umbrellas and some old pencils that I found on Granny Gray's desk. I did the catering myself of course and hosted the evening, looking like a firework myself, with tinsel and smouldering incense sticks pinned to my hat. Invitations had been sent to the pet rocks belonging to a few of my immediate pet rock-owning neighbours, Elfreda, and Alf the elf from the Elf Spa, (who thoughtfully brought their firefighting bucket) Miss Tick, the headmistress from the Seven Schools, Duncan the Dunce and Old Pop Boulder from the sweet shop. Everyone turned up and it was all going well.
This is Duncan. This is Pop

Then there was a large bang from across the alleyway, and another and another. Fireworks exploded all around us but we were determined to ignore them and have a nice time. I clapped my hands to draw attention to myself, and started to sing a lovely song for everyone while Malcolm popped indoors to fetch my latest pet rock bedtime story book. Wherever there's a bonfire, there has to be a story-teller, everyone knows that, (it's an old Undergrowby tradition) and so I felt it was my duty to come up with a new story especially for the event.
Before I had chance to finish my song, a cheap-looking firework rocket fell from the sky into our back yard and laid there fizzing away dangerously. Alf the Elf,(left) a wet boy who has no fear of fire, sprinted over and picked it up. He was just about to throw it over the back yard wall when whoooshh, off it went up into the air with the fearless Alf holding on tightly to its stick. Up he went, (with his pet rock, Stinky, sitting on the ring of bricks watching in admiration). The pet rocks and their owners thought it was all part of the entertainment and gave him a round of applause, but we knew better.
Elfreda from the Elf Spa was beside herself with worry and so was Miss Tick,(above right) who refused to clap, closed her eyes and tutted furiously. And well, Rubble Clubbers, wherever on this earth Alf has landed, Miss Tick is afraid he will have big trouble reading the signposts and finding his way home again because he can't read for toffee or so she (rather indiscreetly) told us all. So, Rubble Clubbers, wherever you live, not just in Blackpool, if you spot an elf alone on the road, squinting up at signposts, for Stinky's sake, please point him towards the Magic Wand Factory Shop near Gynn Square, Blackpool.
And in the words of Miss Tick, the lesson we all learned last night was this. "If you must hold on to a rocket, make sure you have done all your reading homework first."
And as there has been no mail in my mail-bag this week, there is nothing to report, so everyone, get your hats and coats on. We are going to form a search party to look for Alf before the White Mist falls and, as you all should know by now, that is the time when the Growbies(except me) to go to sleep for the winter.The White mist is not far away now. When the temperature drops, it could fall at any time. It could be tomorrow. This is no time to be alone, far from home. Stinky, Alf's grieving pet rock, will ride on the front of my trolley as a lucky charm. Until next week, then, I remain your heroic Chairman and undaunted little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Tricky Halloween

2011-10-30T14:24:00.000Z

Hello Rubble Clubbers and your adorably rocky little pets. I know, I know, you are all excited to be here again. I expect you can smell the fresh batch of crunchy rock cakes awaiting you on the buffet table? Go on, tuck in! For those of you who are new to our weekly get togethers, let me introduce myself. I am the world famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club. I live here at Stone Quarry Cottage, (some call it Pet Rock Headquarters), in the Rocky Headlands of the hidden land of Undergrowby. There are only three entrances to my cottage. The first is through a back yard in Blackpool, to the rear of the bins, where my actual cottage, (two feet tall), projects tastefully from a pile of rubble and broken bricks. The second is through the underground tunnel which connects every Undergrowby house with the Undergrowby tunnel network(see picture below)(but unless, like me and all the other Growbies, you are a under one foot tall, sadly, you will not be able to squeeze into it). The third entrance is through the magical cyber space gateway which leads directly into my cosy parlour, and everyone, no matter how tall or small they are, can squeeze through that one. You have, haven't you? , Yes, nowadays, thanks to my magic laptop and its invisible doorways, my parlour is always full of invisible Rubble Clubbers listening to my speeches and learning how to be the best pet rock keeper they can possibly be.

On to business, Linda from Kilmarnoch, Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter, is alive and well, knitting away on the prefects'couch, quietly planning her next Blackpool holiday. For those of you who think Linda is just a figment of my imagination, here she is on the left, and on the right, as proof of my sanity, is a charming knitted Madge Dumpling sculpture Linda once made for me, complete with knitted rock sample bag and knitted pet rock. It is twice as big as me, so now it has to live with Granny Gray behind the counter in the shop, where the pet rocks use it as a bouncy castle.

Linedancer is here, standing over by the fire, fitting cowboy hats on all the mantelpiece pet rocks, ready for their linedancing performance later. If only they had arms, she says, then their cowboy waistcoats would not keep twirling round back to front. And they would be able to shimmy a lot better too. Well, Linedancer, all I can say is, I am glad they have no arms. I have a row of trophies and medals that I have won in the Rubble Club's shimmying competitions and if the pet rocks had arms, I might never have won them. Well, you know me, Rubble Clubbers, unselfish as I am, I would have to let them win.

Jake, the Rubble Club's amazing magician, has had a tragic disaster this week. His pet rock's lucky toadstool has been broken, leaving his other rocks and his lucky ducky devastated. I suggest a replacement, Jake. Pet rocks never lose anything graciously. They like to accumulate, not downsize. Remember, they are always striving to become the mountain they once were, before they were chipped off and became a little rock. They think big, and so should you Jake. I recommend a trip to the Magic Wand Factory on Dickson Road, Blackpool, to stock up on all those hundreds of little things, wiggly worms, laptops, snails, slugs, hats, books, cakes, furniture, a new house, a swing, a hotel, extra pet rocks, etc., that make a pet rock's life worthwhile. Failing that, another shovelful of rubble should be tipped onto their windowsill to distract them from their loss.

The competition. I am still expecting an entry form Littleborough, which seems to have lost its way, and if it comes in, I will show you. Meanwhile, the other entries will be printed out and stuck up on the notice board later today, so the shop customers can vote for the winner. Good luck everyone!

Halloween. We're going to make ghost outfits again. It's traditional. Over there on the table is a pile of scraps of tissue paper which I collected from the lovely toilets at Gynn Square. Everybody take a scrap and drape it tastefully over you pet rock's head. Don't be rough! Make a little hole where its nose is, so it can breathe. Now, rub your finger tip into the soot around the fireplace and smudge two teeny black eye shapes on the tissue paper where your pet rocks eyes are. Oh dear, your finger tips are too big. Use Linda's knitting needles, just slide the stitches off, that's it. It's only a bit of soot, Linda, don't be selfish! Be careful, Rubble Clubbers, don't poke their eyes out!

And now for this week's entertainment. As we speak, rumbling along the underground tunnels are Estrella Star, the Storyteller from the Summerlands in the south of Undergrowby, and Jig the Juggler, her assistant, with his collection of sunshine bugs which he will juggle for you in an attempt to up-stage the Blackpool Illuminations. Estrella will tell you a nice ghost story to get you in the mood for Halloween. Trolleyjim Troll the trolleyman promised to wheel them along in time for the entertainment feature. Ah, here they are! Enjoy!

And with that I will sneak off until next week, and meanwhile I remain your hard-working Chairman and sooty little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Busy as a dumpling!

2011-10-23T16:03:00.000+01:00

Hello. This is the world-famous Madge Dumpling here, pet rock whisperer and Chairman of the Rubble Club, speaking to you from Stone Quarry Cottage at the foot of the Rocky Headlands in the land of Undergrowby.Oh for heaven's sake, you know who I am and where I live by now. Everybody does! (pant, puff, whine) What was I saying? I'm in a flat spin this week,(holding my forehead, preparing to faint) Rubble Clubbers, so come on, be quick and sit yourselves down and listen very carefully to what I have to say.
Can you hear me, Rubble Clubbers? (gasp cough!) I know my voice is feeble from exhaustion. Wait, I'm forgetting myself, before you sit down, don't forget to put your pet rocks on the mantelpiece over there to chat to their rocky little pals who are having a game of musical statues (when the music starts)(who's playing the bagpipes this week? Not me, I'm far too busy). Tea Boy Bob! Where are you? Nowhere to be seen again, it seems. His wife, the ever-dutiful Linda from Kilmarnock, Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter, will have to sing a little song for us to get the musical statues going. Come on now, you can sing as you knit, Linda, no excuses!
First Item on the agenda. The Competition.

Just when I was thinking of sulking and declaring this month's competition over (for lack of interest from all but one devoted member) I have suddenly been inundated with entries and have been led to believe there are more to come from Littleborough and Blackpool, so, excitedly, I am delaying the judging for another week. Here are this week's entries. The first one is from Jake the Magician, and no doubt it is a bit blurry because, like Jake, it is about to disappear at any moment. If you screw your eyes up you can imagine they are a masterpiece.

On the right you can see Jake's lucky pet rock about to tuck in to those very cakes with its own knife and spoon. I see you are teaching him a few card tricks too, Jake. As we all know, pet rocks are famous for their excellent memory,especially for the ace of spades, so he should have no trouble remembering that card for you. Well done Jake. It's a fine batch of cakes.

Next, Hannah's picnic food, shown here on the left, with the picnic in full swing.

And now close up views of the pie and the doughnuts.

Hannah's Brownie (see the yellow cap, that's how you can spot a Brownie pet rock, Rubble Clubbers!) would not get out of the swing till she got one of those cakes. They look scrumptious, Hannah. Well done! I am pleased to hear that you followed my recipe, both of you, and it shows! Keep going and one day I will let you both get together and bake for the Rubble club buffet, so I can have a well-earned rest.

Granny Gray says she has seen pictures of more pet rock baking on people's illustrated mobile phones and she has also seen some of that finished baking in real life. Can those people please send in your entries because there is only one week left to go, then your dreams of winning the competition are over, no matter how fabulous your baking may be.

I also had a nice, pretty, but in some ways worrying letter from Kasey, who tells me she has been buying wands and frogs.....and what about pet rocks, Kasey? Don't forget to mention them. I know you have some. Kasey is very artistic and in the past she has made some lovely pictures which (between competitions)have been stuck on the Rubble Club notice board in the shop.

Next . As if there were not enough to do, Grandad Gray wants me to tell you that you can now tweet him on wandfactory or themagicwandfactory. I can't think why you would want to, but perhaps you might have an urgent message for me, and he can pass it on for you. I am in no fit state to be tweeting myself. I am, as I said, in a flat spin as it is. By the way, the tweeting place he has built for me personally is called madgedumpling, so if anyone wants to tweet me, tweet away. If I find the energy to make time to pay it a visit and no one has tweeted me, I shall never be returning. Grandad Gray can take my messages from than on. (oh, let me stop for breath, pant, puff!)

I daresay you are wondering why the buffet is not up to its usual standard. Why am I huffing and puffing uncontrollably and why am I not my usual kind, patient,obliging and long-suffering self? Well, it's because this week there has been no time to rest. From morning to night I have been hatching out pet rocks with all my might, as fast as I can. I have been clapping till my hands are sore and chanting till I am hoarse, because the sudden increased demand for pet rocks might be about to astound us all. When it comes, I am determined to be ready.

You see I have been invited to take hundreds of pet rocks to a fabulous Christmas event organised by the Blackpool Gazette in Towneley Hall, Burnley on Sunday the 4th of December. They are sending a special van for me with a driver and a gnome ramp and everything. I suspect that as well as wanting the pet rocks there, they must have caught sight of my own newspaper, the Undergrowby Gazette and recognise a world-class newspaper reporter when they see one, and want to pick my brains. Perhaps they are going to try to hire me. Anyway, as you know, I am already overworked, with all my pet rock whispering, competition organising, etc., etc., but if it means some houses in Burnley will be filled with pet rock joy on Christmas morning, and I might get a job on the Blackpool Gazette, I shall have to find the strength somehow. Any Rubble Clubbers who can get there, if you can't find me, please make yourselves known to Granny Gray, who will be fetching and carrying, wrapping and stall-holding for me on the day.

So thank you for coming but now I must leave you to a display of magic card tricks from Jake the Chief Magician. A word of warning, Jake. Don't forget to do that fabulous ace of spades trick whatever you do! The pet rocks are looking forward to it. It's their favourite. Your badge will be sent sometime during the week, when it's fired.

And so, back to work for me. I'm off to the beach to detect and collect another basket-full of promising rock samples. Malcolm! Put that teapot down and come with me! You can carry my basket!

Until next week I remain your unstoppable Chairman and breathless little friend, Madge Dumpling.

The disappearing magician.

2011-10-16T14:29:00.001+01:00

Here we are again, Rubble Clubbers, come on in. Pop your little pets on the mantelpiece so they can play together while I speak to the world-wide membership. Wait, I need to clear my throat and chest with a bit of peppermint Blackpool rock.(suck, suck, crunch, swallow, gulp.) Ahem! That's better. Hello, everyone, this is Madge Dumpling speaking. Yes, that's right, I really am here in person, the Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club and expert on everything you could ever wish to know about pet rocks. Over there on the prefects' couch is Linedancer from Blackpool, Head Prefect, Linda from Kilmarnock, Deputy Head Prefect (and Chief Knitter), Shannon from Blackpool, Head musician and Jake from York, recently promoted to the Rubble Club's Official Head Magician. Sitting proudly on the arms of the couch and perched along the back of the couch are the prefects, all important in their own special way but sadly, far too many to mention. My husband Malcolm is pouring the gravel tea and the lovely grit-strewn rock cake buffet was (of course) made by my own magical hands.
First, the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnoch is counting down to her next trip to Blackpool while knitting her latest pet rock outfit and glueing pictures of her cute, recently hospitalised grandson Rylan round the ends of all her thousands of knitting needles. For chest complaints, Linda, I always recommend that pink peppermint Blackpool rock that I turned-to earlier to clear my throat.(Crunch it up small for pet rocks and stir it into their gravel to keep them cold-free all winter long.)

Next, a mystery letter from Jake the Magician. Granny Gray, my shopkeeper, accessory-maker, dogsbody and secretary tried to reply to his email but it was returned. The computer said there is no such address and he does not exist, and yet there he is sitting on the prefects' couch. And to prove it, here are some photos of his pet rocks. The first one is Stonely under his umbrella about to tuck in to his egg and chips

Roxanne is on a diet so she is starving herself thin under the umbrella with her lucky ducky.

And their little pet , Peblo is sheltering under his own toadstool, minding his own business.

I am pleased to see they have their own windowsill, and I expect it will soon be filling up with hundreds of pet rock accesories, perhaps a nice expensive (£45.00) pet rock holiday camp or a hotel where pet rocks visiting York can spend the a night?

Meanwhile, failing that Jake, a shovelful of gravel and grit would fill in the gaps on that windowsill and give the place that cosy look (similar to my own windowsills stylishly dressed in Blackpool sand, chopped dried seaweed and broken seashells). Jake, can you hear me? Where are you? He's disappeared!

So that's today's magic show cancelled unless he reappears. Jake, I sympathise with you for being invisible. It happens to me all the time, but with me, I don't mean to be invisible, it just comes upon me. It is not part of a magic trick, it's just my cruel misfortune that when I attend important functions and make public appearances on the Promenade, looking my best, sometimes no one can see me, even when I shout out loud. And yet I can see them. Until now,(when the tables are turned on me, and there is a disappearing magician in my midst) I have always felt quite alone in my uncontrollable invisibility. Perhaps you have some tips for me, Jake, on how to stop disappearing. Let me know when you send me your address which I will need so I can post your Magician's badge to you (free of charge).

If anyone else wants a holiday camp or hotel with multiple bedrooms and adjustable, removable slide,(and has £45.00 to spend) just ring 01253 353800 or come into the Magic Wand Factory Shop at the Gynn Square end of Dickson Road, Blackpool, and get one. Be quick, there's only one holiday camp and one Rockcliff Hotel, and Granny Gray insists she is too busy making boots and frogs to make any more for a while. (Disgraceful!)

And now we shall retire to the outdoor patio area because the Blackpool sun is shining. I have organised a pet rock hunt for you. Hurry up. Get your rubber gloves on and root about in those damp, dark corners of the back yard and find any pet rocks who have fallen out of their plantpot rock gardens in last week's sea breeze. It's time now, anyway, to put a stop to their summery hide and seek antics.

This dangerous damp weather, for reasons I outlined last week, strikes suddenly. One day it's summer, then, without warning, it's autumn and the leaves are dying and rotting. Let's face it, if you were stuck in a damp, dark corner of the back yard in the autumn, you wouldn't like it, would you? It would be enough to set off all kinds of ailments! Soon the winter will be here and before then, the pet rocks, for their own good, must be brought indoors, snuggled up together in their fluffy beds, warm and dry and safe.

Keep going, Rubble Clubbers. Throw all those wet leaves and crisp packets in the bin, that's it. And there's a brush and shovel over there. Just give the back yard a little sweep as you go, to be on the safe side. What fun! I'll leave you to it then.

When you've finished, I'll be in the parlour thinking up some more games. Meanwhile, for those of you who are drifting off uncontrollably into cyber-space, I'll see you next week, and until then I remain your endlessly entertaining Chairman and peppermint-scented little friend, Madge Dumpling.

2011-10-09T18:04:00.000+01:00

Here we are together again, Rubble Clubbers, at the Stone Quarry Cottage in the Rocky Headlands of Undergrowby. I am your Chairman, Quarrymistress and world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling. Here I am (like the eternal flame that never dies), passing round the buffet plates, keeping the party buzzing and (unselfishly as ever), passing on my extraordinary expertise to all you thousands of dedicated pet rock keepers all over the world.

This has been a busy week in the shop. The orphan cupboard was almost stripped bare at one point, and I had to rush down to the beach to snatch up a few ripe and likely-looking rocks as only I can, and hatch them out in a hurry to fill the gaps. Lots of pet rock owners have promised Granny Gray that they will be entering the baking competition, but so far, only our dependable, faithful competition entrant, Shannon has sent something in. Here it is. I was hoping for a photo of some actual delightful baking that you have done, Shannon, but top marks for doing something anyway. Perhaps the photo of the undermentioned pizza will follow. If not, never mind.

Shannon, you asked about your friend Annabel's entry in the 'prefect competition'. Well I don't remember having a prefect competition, so I don't know what you are talking about. If Annabel hasn't got a prefect's badge and wants one, she can have one. Is that what you mean? In fact, anybody who enters a competition can have a prefect's badge for their efforts. All they have to do is ask Granny Gray. Her memory is not what it used to be and she forgets who's got badges and who hasn't. She needs a little prod.

Two lovely and very talented little Rubble Clubbers from Littleborough were promoted to prefects this week because they brought lots of little pies, pizzas and cakes they had made to show me, but sadly I was out at the time. I had a feeling someone special was coming so I left some prefects badges with Granny Gray just in case. Now I am kicking myself for being out and waiting for the photos of all that baking to arrive, as promised.

Another very special Rubble Clubber appeared in the shop this week. His name is Jake and he wrote me a letter promising to get on with his baking so he can enter the competition too. Meanwhile, in the shop he was entertaining Granny Gray with his magic card tricks. She was quite mystified, and so was I. (I was sitting on top of the cupboard to the right of the counter watching his antics) I am pleased to announce that he has turned up at the meeting today with his expensive pack of cards, entertaining the pet rocks on the mantelpiece, including his own pets. Their names are Stonely (who is soon going to be promoted to magician's paperweight, card-holding assistant), Roxanne (Stonely's girlfriend) and Peblo, their tiny pet. I am making Jake a special badge for becoming the Rubble Club's official Chief Magician and when he has finished he can sit on the prefect's couch even though he hasn't got a badge yet. (Just ask for one next time you are in the shop, Jake). Now, infuriatingly Jake tried to send me a lovely picture of his pets but I can't get it to come through. Can you send it as a jpeg file, Jake? Do you know how to do that? I know what buttons to press for that, so try again please. You're a magician, after all.

So very soon we shall be inundated with entries for the competition if everybody fulfills their promises. I can't wait, I'm so excited. Be quick, everyone!
You, like me, may be wondering where on earth is Linda from Kilmarnock? Linda, for those who are new to the Rubble Club, is the Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter for the Rubble Club who likes to sit at the warmest end of the prefects' couch, knitting away merrily. Well she disappeared last week, and it seems she knitted herself off to one side, fell off the prefects' couch and disappeared completely into cyber space while tackling an extra large jumper she was knitting for Tea Boy Bob, her husband. She has managed to find her way back this week but Tea Boy Bob (the part-time Tea Boy of the Rubble Club) has now disappeared. His specialist services were in demand at a beer and tea-making festival and he is still there, forgetting to come home because he is chatting away to all those beer makers (in that funny little expert way he has) about bottle stoppers, beer barrels, teapots and other specialist equipment that has nothing whatsoever to do with pet rocks, so we don't care about it, do we?

On to business. Halloween is just around the corner, so we need to be thinking about the pet rocks' Halloween party. Here is my suggestion for a Hallowen costume. You may have ideas of your own. If so, send me pictures so you can share with the membership.

Final announcement. Look out in the shop's pet rock cupboards for new stock of many sizes and colours of pet rock cowboy hats. Your pet rock will never perform its best in the forthcoming linedancing competitions without one.

And now over to Jake who will entertain us all and our little pets with one of his fabulous tricks. Take it away, Jake!

Goodbye from me till; next week. I am, as always, your devoted Chairman and excited little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Dangerous times!

2011-10-02T15:40:00.000+01:00

Today, Rubble Clubbers, I am going to make this a very short meeting because of the dangerous weather conditions. If I had known there would be that fine mist of rain like we had this morning, after all the strange, sudden sultry heat of the past few days, I would have cancelled the meeting altogether. Now, here you all are with your pet rocks exposed to not only the autumn air, but damp, warm autumn air with no wind to dry out the earth. Let me explain because a pet rock owner needs to know about all this basic magical elemental stuff. And where else are you going to find out about it than from me, the world-famous Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club, and pet rock whisperer.

As you may or may not know, the five elements, fire, earth, metal, water, and wood each have a dangerous season. We who live in the Rocky Headlands are governed by the earth element, and our dangerous season is 'the change between the seasons' , when everything comes down to earth for a while before it moves on into the next season. More especially the change between the seasons is dangerous when that change is in late summer and autumn, when leaves fall, rot and decay. You can tell when it's dangerously damp because fungus appears everywhere and the bottom of stone walls and fence posts suffer from damp decay. Damp heat can be lethal to any pet rock, causing swellings, lumps and bumps, funny smells, itching, bad breath, worrying mood swings, weeping, over-thinking, attention-seeking (that me,me,me! syndrome that every pet rock owner dreads ) and worst of all, crumbling collapse. It's poisonous and deadly because dampness weakens earth element creatures, (rocks, bricks, piles of stale rock cales, etc.!) Ask anyone with dampness in their house! If you don't fix it, the house may crumble at the bottom and fall down. That's because houses belong to the earth element too. For that reason, in the late summer and autumn, every house owner should bring out a "No fungus beyond this point!" sign like mine, above. Pet rocks are greatly reassured by it.

This sudden hot mini-summer has caused much confusion here at the Stone Quarry Cottage. We don't like change, especially a change in the seasons, (our dangerous time). It's a worry. And now the misty rain. Ugh!
But there's always a cure for every ill. Luckily for you, I, Madge Dumpling, am here to tell you what to do about it. Listen carefully.

Stay indoors till all signs of dampness have gone. Remove fluff from beds and replace with dry crumbs, crushed chalk or something equally absorbent. Sprinkle pet rock with talcum powder and rub it in well till warm and dry. Serve only hot, dry food, preferably burnt. Make two fans out of folded paper. Walk round the house, a fan in each hand and fan the air around your pet rocks so they are not sitting in still, damp air. Tell jokes, sing, dance, entertain, be jolly and read aloud all my pet rock bedtime stories to distract them from worrying. This will pass. Look on the bright side,...you are now equipped with the knowlege of how to deal with it.

Right, off you go now, Rubble Clubbers. No time for eating and linedancing. Go home and pray for a gentle breeze. If the weather changes suddenly, respond equally suddenly. Replace fluff, etc. Try to get a grip and think ahead at all times.

Next week, we'll meet again unless it it still damp and hot. Meanwhile, I remain your flustered Chairman and worried, damp little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Important new competition!

2011-09-25T16:11:00.000+01:00

In you come, Rubble Clubbers! Yes, you really are here, many of you for the first time, in the parlour of Stone Quarry Cottage in the Rocky Headlands of the land of Undergrowby. Well done for pressing all the right buttons on your computer! There's no other way into my cottage for a human except through the magical passages of cyberspace. No human would ever fit through my 6 inch tall doorway in the real world. Look around. This attractive, grit-strewn hearth is where all your little pets were born and I am the world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling, Chairman of the Rubble Club.

I, as usual, will be your hostess, (go on, tuck into the nice smelly, crunchy buffet over there on the sideboard! Guess between you what famous Dickson Road Pizza Shop ingredient is in the rock cakes this week! That's right, it's garlic. I won't be using it again.) Today I will be guiding you in the traditional Dumpling method of baking for pet rocks, with special attention to ringing the changes in your rock cake recipes. If you concentrate hard and practice, practice, practice, and keep coming up with new ideas, you might stand a chance of becoming my apprentice rock cake baker. To prove you are fit to wear my "Madge's Apprentice" badge, and win some lovely pet rock paraphernalia, you have to win the next competition! Listen well. This is how to bake the Dumpling Way.

Get the tiniest bowl and spoon in the world (available from the Magic Wand Factory on Dickson Road, Blackpool) and put a little spoonful of salt in the bowl. Pour in about four little spoonsful of hot water to dissolve the salt. Look around for whatever grit, sand, broken shells, gravel or crunchy dust you can find this week and shovel a couple of spoonsful of this fresh crunchiness into the salt water. Stir round. It should sound slushy, like the tide coming in over Blackpool beach if you're doing it right.

Add a few spoonsful of flour (brown, white, cornmeal, rice flour, any old flour....ring the changes, don't stick to one thing, don't forget...pet rocks like a change!)...and stir round till it turns into soft, crunchy, shapeable dough. If it's too sticky, add more flour. Too dry, add more water. And that's it. That's the secret starting point. After that, it's up to you to be imaginitive. Root about around the house in your cupboards(not just the kitchen cupboards, try the bathroom or garden shed) to find interesting additions to your baking.

Surprise me with what you find! Shape the final dough into whatever you think your pet rocks would like most today,.... tiny little biscuits, rock buns, one big rock cake, a cute little rock pie perhaps,with a bright-coloured filling, pastry tarts, etc.. Whatever you make, the pet rocks will love to watch you at work and even if they refuse to eat what you make, look on the bright side. It's not all about you, it's all about them and what makes them happy! You could invent the very thing pet rocks love to eat and you could become world-famous like me!

Then , before you add the final touches, (rock icing, rock fruit, rock drizzle, rock sprinkles, etc. {there is a selection of colourful bits and bobs available at the Magic Wand Factory shop, if you are stuck}) leave your efforts to dry out proudly for a few days on a sunny windowsill, on a plate on top of a radiator or bake them in a warm oven if you like, if there's a warm oven around at the time. Don't turn the oven on yourself, especially not for a teaspoonful of rock cake mixture! Be patient. It will dry out hard in a few days, and you've got a month to get it perfect.

When you are happy with your baking, no matter how messy it looks, take a photo or paint a picture of what you have made, along with the recipe ingredients (neatly written so I and the shop customers can read the writing easily and vote for it to win) and then send it to me or hand it in in the shop. You could be the next Dumpling Baking Apprentice for a year. Just imagine how jealous your friends will be! The closing date will be the end of October, then the shop customers and I will choose the winner. Good luck!

If you have entered a competition in the past and have not been awarded a prefect's badge, just ask Granny Gray for one next time you are in the shop. Once you have been made a prefect you can sit on the cosy, nicely-gritted prefects' couch (see picture left) whenever you come to the meeting. Non-prefects (who can't be bothered to enter competitions) have to sit on stools, broken bricks and boulders, or stand up. (You only have yourselves to blame!)

Now, on to the postbag. Linda from Kilmarnock, Deputy Head Prefect and Chief Knitter for the Rubble Club, thank you for cheery letter of support (that unflinching kind of support that has saved me from many a dramatic decline). I am glad to hear that Tea Boy Bob is on the mend and now you have told me that, I will be expecting him back on tea-making duty next week. Goodness knows my husband Malcolm has missed him splashing that tartan tea ingredient all around the kitchen. He doesn't do a lot apart from brew tea but it's nice for Malcolm to have a friend chatting away as he washes up and does the messy kitchen chores that I never have time or inclination to do, (being as world-famous as I am). And the kitchen pet rocks miss him too, telling his amusing tall tales about the superhuman powers that tartan tea has given him in his battles against the north wind and the Scottish mountain rains. Pet rocks love a good adventure story and luckily for Tea Boy Bob, they will believe anything.

The last competition was won by two equally deserving entrants, Hannah and Daniel, whose pictures will remain on the notice board until the next competition starts. Well done you two! Enjoy your prefect's badges and fabulous prizes!

And with that I must end my speech. Rubble Clubbers, gather round the table with your best dancing pet rocks lined up around the edge. Now, introducing Linedancer, the Head Prefect, who will play the fiddle and shout the linedancing instructions to you all. New members, just jiggle your pet rock up and down on the spot until you have both learned the easy peasy routines. By next week your pet rocks will be joining in merrily with the rest and you will be expected to provide them with proper cowboy hats like Linedancer's, but smaller (pet rock cowboy hats are available in the shop if you are stuck for a supplier). When the dancing begins I shall patrol around and be a talent-spotter.

So, goodbye for now, Rubble Clubbers. Till next week I remain your unstoppable Chairman and useful little friend, Madge Dumpling. Take it away, Linedancer!

Dumpling magic is restored!

2011-09-18T16:26:00.000+01:00

Hello to all you pet rock owners and your pampered little pets. Come on in! I am the world-famous pet rock whisperer, Madge Dumpling speaking to you in good health from the doorway of Rubble Club Headquarters, (my grit-strewn cosy little shack which is hidden in a back yard somewhere in Blackpool). Until a few days ago I was in a dangerously fragile state of exhaustion and despair, lying in my bed cupboard, determined to die. Then a miracle happened. The Rubble Club's Deputy Head Prefect, Linda from Kilmarnoch, wrote this life-saving letter to me and the membership

Madge, for pity's sake Get well soon, I am totally exhausted trying to run the meeting without you!!!

Rubble Clubbers!!!!! Madge and her able assistant Granny Gray work hard to keep the Rubble Club afloat so please get those competition entries rolling in.

Granny Gray, print off my instructions and illustrate them to draw attention and stick on the notice board in the shop where visiting members can see it!!! thank You!!

Grandad Gray, you should be well on the road to recovery now. Poor old Madge is shattered trying to keep things going without you!!

Come on Madge, we need you back at the helm!!! Rubble Clubbers of the world UNITE!!!!

Linda

And it worked! Another competition entry came in and I regained the will to live immediately. Up I leapt and here I am, rescued from death's door by a lovely, adorable little Rubble Clubber called Daniel. Here he is with his 'Me and my pet rock' entry. Here is a letter from his helpful mother to explain why he has not singled out his favourite pet rock.

'Daniel has made a special garden for his pet rocks. He didn't want them to get cold so we brought a little of the garden inside. Daniel thought very carefully about the things he should choose for the pet rocks garden and went out and collected them with his mummy. He chose soil and grass. Little pebbles and twigs so they would have somewhere to hide and pretty leaves and plants so they would think it looked nice. Here is a picture of him with his mini rock garden. He was very proud of himself for taking such good care of his pets :) He said he couldn't choose just one pet rock as they were all his favourites.

From Laura (mum) and Daniel Stubbs age 5 xxx'

This next picture is Daniel in the shadows, next to his pet rock windowsill. He is still smiling. And below is a close up of his little pets playing in their wonderful rock garden playround, designed and made by Daniel himself.

Thank you Daniel and your mother for bringing me and the Dumpling Magic back to life.

The competition to win some lovely pet rock stuff, is now closed.Your photos, along with pretty little Hannah Pook's photo,(two meetings ago) will be up on the notice board in the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool, for one week, so the customers can vote for the winner. Hannah Pook has made me a lovely little pet rock statue out of some modelling material she bought at Home Bargains in the town centre. It could easily be mistaken for a real pet rock. Clever you, Hannah!

Home Bargains is one of my own favourite shops. I am often in there looking for those free gifts that I find thoughtfully placed on the bottom shelves for me. I have given up trying to pay for my bargains because when I queue up at the counter, the flustered assistant (obviously over-excited to have a world-famous celebrity like myself in the shop) completely ignores me and starts to serve the customer behind me. It is as if I were invisible!

And now it is time for me to share with you my secret alternative recipes for pet rock treats. We all know that pet rocks are not fussy eaters. All they really need is a dish of sand or grit, but they are not blind. They never see us, their human friends, eating sand or grit, now do they? No. We have chips and cakes and pies and nettle soup and so on, so it's only fair that we try to include tiny versions of all the above so they do not feel left out. It was for that reason that I originally invented my range of pet rocks' rock cakes, turned to stone by the power of Dumpling magic. However, it is clear that not everybody can afford them, and no one has the Dumpling magic but me, so if you want to get the same sort of effect, but on the cheap, there are ways and means.

Before I start to explain myself, let me say I know you pet rock owners out there are understandably jealous of my world-famous magic powers, but you need to come to terms with it without delay because there is only one Madge Dumpling and that is me. The Dumpling magic is unexplainable. However, to give you a lifeline and a way of getting over your jealousy, here is a list of ingredients you can seek out to make perfectly acceptable pet rock speciality dishes which, when dried, will look almost as good as my own creations.

Salt(plenty of salt in a recipe ensures it will last a long time and not go mouldy, unlike ordinary cake mixes)

Assorted flours and meals

Assorted sandy grits

chopped up sponges and packing materials

sliced polystyrene(meringue/marshmallows)

pva glue

wallpaper paste

food colouring

powder paint or poster paint

seeds (for nuts and painted green or orange for peas and beans)

broken shells

dust

soot

moss(for vegetables0

seaweed (chopped finely and dried or it will stink)

coloured gravel (for fish tanks or bagged in tiny bags from Granny Gray in the shop)

dried flowers pulled apart and coloured

thread dipped in glue and/or paint(for spaghetti)

rust

chalk

etc.

A warning. Before you start, nip down to the Magic Wand Factory Shop on Dickson Road, Blackpool and buy loads of my pet rock-sized baking dishes, spoons, mixing bowls, plates, ingredients and serving trays, oh,... and a pottery kitchen table on which to work. If you try to bake in big human-sized equipment you will make far too much and will have to buy lots more pet rocks to eat it all up.

Get practicing now, Rubble Clubbers, before I announce the subject of next month's competition, which may have something to do with baking with kitchen droppings, rubble and useful oddments like those things I have listed above.

Last night, I expect you all took your pet rocks down to see the German entry in the International Firework Competition on the Promenade. I did. Well, if you have missed it so far, the last entry (United Kingdom's) is on next Friday night, so if you don't live in Blackpool, book a coach or train now and I'll see you on the Promenade next Friday night. Report to me and I will tell Linda from Kilmarnock to tick your name off the list. You know how much the pet rocks love it. Don't let them down now, Rubble Clubbers. It's the very least you can do.

And with that I will leave you until next week, when I shall announce the winner of the competition and reveal the subject of next month's competition. Meanwhile, I remain your wise chairman and fascinatingly cheerful little friend, Madge Dumpling.

Gasping for breath.

2011-09-11T17:12:00.000+01:00

Oh, Rubble Clubbers, I'm still in a bad way. Can you hear my feeble little voice? I can't shout . I'm over here in my bed cupboard, still in poor health and desperately in need of support. No one could ever call me ungrateful, however. I know all your thoughts and good wishes are with me, it goes without saying, but only two of you actually put yourselves out to pen to paper and no one at all entered the competition, despite my strict orders.
     On that matter, thank you to Linda from Kilmarnoch for your words of staunch support and good sense, and thank you for your heartfelt message too, Jezz. It was just what I needed. When I read your concerned letters, ladies, I do admit I did leap out of bed and do a bit of pet rock whispering, catching up on the gossip from the rubble, reassured that I was the centre of attention again, where I deserve to be.
   Then, when no more letters came in (and naturally, I was expecting hundreds) my health took a turn for the worse again. Linda and Jezz, to save the Rubble Club from sudden death, are therefore running the meeting together this week and realizing what a terrible strain it is. And to cap it all, there have been no more entries for the competition. Linda and Jezz, get everyone to pay more attention!   Tell them the title of the competition is "My favourite pet rock and I" and we are looking for a close-up photo of every pet rock owner and his or her favourite pet rock, both smiling into the camera. Don't be bashful, Rubble Clubbers. You'll never win if you don't enter. The prize will be pet rock paraphernalia as usual, and everyone will win something nice just for entering, tell them. The winner will be the one who makes the customers smile most. This is the last week before the competition closes, so be quick, tell them!
      See what games and activities you can dream up to entertain the membership, ladies. At least let the visiting little treasures mingle with their old rocky friends and family over on the mantelpiece.And force people to eat Malcolm's pitiful buffet.
    My husband Malcolm can't bake for toffee, and that is why the buffet table is a disgrace. (shop-bought junk, I see...crisps, apple pies, custard creams and nuts,....far from the tasty, world-famous titbits of Dumpling catering that you have come to expect.) Still, if you will not enter the competition or write me nice little get-well messages, that is the price you pay.
     And now I need to close my eyes and take a well-earned rest. I can do no more. Perhaps things will take a turn for the better very soon, or perhaps not. Meanwhile I remain clinging to life in my bed cupboard, your frail Chairman and forgotten friend, Madge Dumpling.