My pal Iain Aitch also gave it a mention in his We’re British Innit blog.

I would like to draw your attention to the Betsey Trotwood site, which kindly advertised the launch on July 2nd. After many years in the writing, the big day was finally imminent. You can imagine my amusement to see it advertised as ‘Candy from a Frog’. As they say, priceless.

Thanks though to all at the Betsey and also the Deaf Cat Cafe in Rochester as both proved excellent and welcoming venues for book readings and big thanks to Rob Flodd for his technical wizardry.

In fact, it began life around 1988-1991 when I wrote a few short stories about my childhood while under the influence of the great American writer John Fante. They were published by Billy Childish’s Hangman Books in little volumes called 51st Anniversary and Creosote Kingdom. Six of these stories survive in updated versions in the novel.

Back in those days I used to send my material to Keith Waterhouse and Alan Sillitoe, two writers I found inspirational. Both would write back by return of post with words of kind encouragement. Upon reading Creosote Kingdom, Alan Sillitoe wrote ‘(Your writing) gets better and better. When are you going to do a novel?’ Alan passed away on Sunday 25th April, on the day that I sent the finished manuscript of Taking Candy from a Dog to Geraint Hughes at Blackheath.

It has undergone a little proof reading since then and had the odd sentence added, but is now in the hands of Mr Hughes, who will do his thing with his trusty machines and will have 200 first edition copies of Taking Candy from a Dog in a nice stack on his kitchen table within the month. Advanced orders will be taken via his website (see Blackheath link on the right) in due course.

Hope you enjoy reading it. Ideal for tube, bus or train journeys or curled up with the cat and a cuppa on your sofa.

I like writers who suffer for their art. Who drag themselves through the streets at dawn looking for an angry fix. Who burn in the bowels of hell before clawing themselves back by their filthy fingernails only to lose their grip and slide further in to the abyss. Who slip from wanton hedonism to abject misery in the space of a page.Vic Templar is not one those writers. Yet his little book of short stories shows he too has suffered. Stung by a wasp, he was. On his tongue. It’s not quite walking 47 miles of barbed wire, using a cobra snake for a necktie, but it’s a start. His warm, matey, nostalgic style is more Nick Hornby than Nick Kent but his musings on his nan, his dustman, playing golf with monks, and forgetting his friend’s name raise a sneaky smile.Vic Templar Does His Clunkers is the equivalent of sitting for hours on a Sunday watching repeats of Come Dine With Me, with a warm mug of tea in one hand, a custard cream in the other, and the cat curled up on your lap. And, believe it or not, there are times when that’s preferable to drinking absinthe from a shoe with winos, junkies and whores.

Iain Aitch goes the extra mile on my behalf again with a review in Nude Magazine Issue 15:

At just 64 pages this is not the longest book that you will read this year, but it could possibly be the most endearing. Circling somewhere between the orbits of Billy Liar and Jerry Seinfeld, this collection of short autobiographical stories gives you an insight into the odd, touching and thoughtful world of the author, where Bobby Charlton is a bin man, wasps fly into mouths and an army is run by a penguin. In a time full of doom and snarkiness, this hand-bound book is a wonderfully evocative slice of childish joy, taking in filmic rain soakings and a talking sock monkey. Vic casts himself as a kid with no sense of ego and only the desire to tell you a great story, whether that be about a relative, friend or a gig. Vic played drums for The Dentists and still does in the Armitage Shanks, so you can expect a slew of musical references amidst the shining prose. It is unlikely that you will find this book on sale at your local book chain, as it is simply not the kind of volume that can be packaged and marketed by major publishers. But, in a way, that is how it should be. This is a beautiful secret between us all. Brew up a cup of tea to Vic’s formula and read this in one go in the garden, just so long as film rain is not falling.

The book has been out for a week now and reaction has been good. My pal Iain Aitch has thrown his full weight behind it, not that he’s a hefty chap, far from it, but his literary pedigree and stature more than make up for that.

He not only wrote a very nice quote for the Press release, he has given Chunkers a splendid review on his website. Yes, he’s a pal, but lest you doubt his sincerity, remember it’s him that gets omelette on his face if the book’s a turkey. (Anyway, you can clearly see it’s a penguin).

These are his words, not mine: Vic Templar digs out the kind of narratives that we usually only allow to go on in our heads, sprinkling them with odd pieces of slang, childhood memories, grandparents’ wisdom and the kind of information only found on the back of obscure football cards that still smell of bubble gum. Often funny and always quietly touching, his short stories cast children as adults and allow adults to revisit the freedom of childhood, ignoring the call to be cool and instead making for a joyous read that is as likely to include references to naval trivia as it is to mention 1970s pop stars or wasps.

And this, if it works, is the promo film I made for the book:

It comprises a selection of blogs, musings, anecdotes and observations from the last couple of years, in the main, plus a few older pieces too.

Expect to read about jaspers, liars, murderers, fog, Australia, Guinness, ghosts, golfing monks, tea, penguins, Hendrix and women’s frog race.

Of course, there’s also a chapter written by a sock monkey.

There is also the point that the book hasn’t got a publisher yet (hint). This, therefore,  is the website of the book Taking Candy From A Dog by Vic Templar. It’s also the place where you can read other bits and bobs of mine too.