Normal Service has been resumed.

These august pages have fallen into dereliction and silence. 

Not by design, mind, but as each month passed and the blog went untended the pressure to return grew to an unbearable degree until it was easier to cast it all into the oblivion. 

But increasingly it has gnawed at me, of an media empire lying dormant, of a world not being able to glory in Tove. So now is the time to clutch the nettle and to hoist it out of the darkness and show the world what a glorious child Tove has become in that blogging void.

She's a delight. A glorious, lazy, [potentially] indulged, slightly fighty, tremendous bean. When I last committed to these pages she was a silent bundle slowly finding herself and now as I write she is a torrent of thought and words and trouble. 

So much of her random beauty has been lost - fragments of nonsense captured in the recesses of my mind (like her brief obsessive need to affix "a whole world of nothing" to the end of most of her sentences or exclaiming "Oh what the heck, the gorilla" when her chips where down) - it's hard to know where to start. Perhaps retrospection isn't helpful - let us treat this like a fresh start.

So where are we / where is she? Well, she has cast off nappies (though can't survive without her blessed potty train), she is no longer breast fed (though is still a fan of boobies) and she's a bit partial to Peppa Pig despite our best efforts to upgrade her watching habits (nothing pretentious mind - even Hey Duggee would feel like a pardigm shift). 

And while she is aware of "hand-sani" and perhaps some odd sense of distance - she has been a beacon of delighful ignorance amid all this pandemic bosh. A delightful oasis of total loveliness amid a fair bit of full spectrum cack.

Prepare yourselves. Maybe sit down. Refrain from using any heavy machinery. And enjoy.

Behold Tove (it still rhymes with Hoover).