The dawn chorus and our first mall excursion

J's remark helped. 'All you've got to do, Luce, is realise that it's just an indoor souq on many floors, and then it doesn't seem quite so bad.' My mall phobia has been slightly eased by our first family visit to one after 3 months in this over-mall-ified city. It's been a three day weekend, and we're on day three. It's at least 35 degrees today and the boys have stopped sleeping because of the heat. So where could we buy, in under 2 hours, 2 stand up fans for the boys' bedrooms; some thin trousers for J (men don't wear shorts here); some shorts for the Lozenge, and a non-Nescafe coffee, without cardamom floating in it, for me. Answer: Taj Mall. And I have to say the experience was less painful than I'd imagined. We beat the crowds, the whole trip took 2 hours, and the Lozenge could scoot around the smooth marble floors at 30mph without being hit by a car. We'll leave it another 3 months til we go back, but I've dismounted from my high horse.

What is it with boys and wide screens?

The days seem to be beginning at 5.30am again - probably because of the heat. The Lozenge is normally the first to emerge saying: 'Mummy, ith it morning-time?' which is a hard one to answer, because unfortunately 5.30am would fit into the morning-time bracket, though I wish it didn't have to. So by 6am this morning I had already been cajoled into catching some little fish with a magnetic rod in the Lozenge's bed, which always seems to have most of the bird garden sand in it. The boys' voices competed with the cacophony of birds, as the Lozenge screamed: 'I've caught a littEL one Mummy and I'm putting him on the tabEL.' He now has a hint of an Arabic accent when he speaks English. And Rashimi was squawking: 'Mummeee! Mummeee! Ana, ana!' (me!me!) from next door. A little like diving into a cold British river in June, the initial wake-up shock is horrible, but soon I was in the groove, entangled with sticky, hot, mallowy flesh, in a sandy bed, hearing the rustle of nappy and the slap of little feet on the marble floor, reminding myself that in 10 years they won't want to be cavorting about with me at this hour and maybe I'll be the one who's awake first.

Magnetic fishing merged into Cheerios and Martin Sheen's Desert Island Discs podcast, where he described his brilliant sounding wife, Janet, coming into his hospital room after he'd just suffered a heart attack. She whispered in his ear: 'Don't worry honey, it's only a movie.' His take on life made me feel a little more pleased to be awake while J was sleeping off another Arabic hangover. The language is an interminable daily beast which knocks even the most determined off kilter. Although I'm not doing such intense learning, I also feel like I need some human RAM at times, while I figure out new editing software, more depths to my cameras, toddlers and a bit of Arabic on the side. I've been asked to do a couple of short film portraits of some Syrian female refugees here which will be my project until our summer holiday begins and I'm feeling un-nerved, because my Arabic isn't good enough for me to go it alone, and working with a translator is like walking with a crutch. My first meetings with them are on Sunday, with the same female translator I used for the gypsies feature, and I so hope they want to talk to us. I always find the first contact nerve-wracking as I'm so terrified of making them feel terrified, and not want to talk. No matter how much I do it, I still get that same shy and nervous feeling. Maybe that's the adrenalin I need, but it's very uncomfortable, particularly on my own, in a foreign language, with multiple bits of technology, which so often decides to play up in hot weather. But without that direct contact, how will we know what it is to be them? And they're right next door. Only 20% of the Syrian refugees here are in the camps, and all the rest are dotted around in Amman and its surrounding towns and villages.

The Glammy continues to be a constant source of good sense and fun. The Lozenge and Rashimi totally adore her. They communicate mostly in Arabic. She has taught the Lozenge how to know when his shoes are on the right feet by making sure the 'toeth are kithing'. And when she leaves at 5pm the Lozenge calls: 'Thee you later alligator' and she responds: 'not so soon, big baboon!' and off she cruises in her beige Mercedes to do I'm not sure what in the evenings, at her Mum's house. She keeps us all on track and is a vibrant, intelligent presence. I wonder if there is a man good enough and broad minded enough in this country for her. Her main worry is she will never find a guy who understands that she hates cooking and cleaning. It is easy to underestimate the ease of relationships in an enlightened society.

Last week I had a screening of This is my Destiny, the film I made in Afghanistan, in a friend's cafe here. It was strange watching it 5 years on after making it, living in another country, having had two children since that time. As I watched, I remembered everything that went into making it, and how crucial it seemed at the time. And now, with all those memories a little faded, the piece seemed almost anachronistic. Yet with opium production booming again in Afghanistan, and the 444th British soldier blown to bits this week on that dusty ground, the issues are still the same. But technology having progressed so much in this time, the actual look of the film, is the thing that tricks you into thinking it was a different time. And in this sense, we can never measure progress through technological advance.

Last night J and I watched a brilliant film called: 'Incendies.' by a Canadian director Denis Villeneuve (sis - you've got to see it!). It's a fictional story set in the 70's during the Lebanese civil war. The plot is brilliant but harrowing, and even more so knowing that we're only a short drive away from the very same brutality being played out in neighbouring Syria, with Iraq still smouldering, and sparks ready to ignite in many other places. Yet, the book I'm reading: 'I shall not hate' by Izzeldin Abuelaish, a doctor who lost half of his children during an Israeli strike on Gaza, is an example of the all-powerful and infectious forgiveness possible in a human being, and is a constant reminder that within the ashes there will always be jewels which refuse to be damaged by what's going on around - shining all the more brightly as a result.