Abu and Umm Lucy arrive

I've just been home again to meet my new nephew, Fergus and it was like we'd met before. The familiarity of holding and smelling a tiny being with some of the same blood was surprising and lovely. And I had the chance to sing and dance at a wedding, which was the other surprising thing - because I realised that I hadn't done either (with adults) since we arrived in Jordan, and the release was intense. In every human culture in the world people do both, which must mean they're as necessary as eating. So I'm on a mission to find a nightclub here in Amman.

With a little distance from our new home, I had the chance to think about where we've come in 2 months, and to resolve to be all things better - a better mother, a better wife, a better me, and then I saw this little quote written in a scrawling hand on a white board in Kentish Town tube station's 'poetry corner':

I am in competition with no one. I run my own race. I have no desire to play the game of being better than anyone, in any way, shape, or form. I just aim to improve, to be better than I was before. That's me and I'm free.

That's how it felt being back in the UK. Living away from there helps you to appreciate its tremendous power and individuality as a nation - despite all its faults, a threat of press regulation, and the fact it was minus 3 degrees at midday in March.

And then I returned here, bringing Mum and Dad, and a bag bulging with strong bread flour, and the place suddenly feels like home. Their all-knowing hearts have checked out our every day. And thanks to the umbrella-like sharing of the joyburden of children, I feel a bit more comfortable we are not doing something too stupid by living here, so far away. I wonder if we ever grow out of seeking our parents' approval? So they're here, and they know more about life than us, and they love our children, so we feel safe.

Watching their reactions to all the people that come into our daily lives here is also fascinating. With no common language, having seen Abu Mohammed and Sayyad with our children, Dad quickly saw, with great gratitude, that both men would jump in front of a car to save one of the boys. A humbling thing to witness as a Grandparent who lives a long way away.

The Lozenge, whose last little stunt before I left, was to shake the tortoise's scaly paw in the downstairs garden, and say: "Hello, what's your name?" Then after a short silence, he said: "Oh dear. I don't think he speaks English," which I realise is his every day at nursery school.  So when Mum and Dad (Abou and Umm Lucy these days) walked through our front door, it was as though the floor beneath Laurie's feet had turned into a trampoline he bounced so high - and I honestly think the noise that came from his mouth was ullulation.

We've been out and about in Amman and the Lozenge and Rashimi have bloomed with the familiarity of their presences. The sculptures in the National Gallery are more functional than most…

We've got them earning their keep at last....

…and tomorrow we're all off to the Dead Sea with the Glammy who was particularly excited I went back to the UK as it meant I could get the latest LV handbag for her on her behalf.