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The UN has launched its biggest appeal in history to help Syria. You feel the crisis is already at fever pitch - yet whichever way you look, whether it's over the border to Damascus, north towards Lebanon, or internally here in Jordan - it seems the situation will inevitably get worse.

As the UN tries to raise £3.5 billion in this appeal - one of the front page stories in the papers last week laid out how much the war in Afghanistan has cost us in the UK. An eye watering £37 billion, with nothing significant to show for it, they said.

If only a tenth of that had been spared, it could have covered the UN's requirements in this appeal.

Yet the louder voices are discussing the possible distribution of more arms. Can more weapons in one of the most violent parts of the world, ever be a sensible solution?

Meanwhile, last week, as I was happily beginning my day, editing in my hot and airless den - but a room of my own nevertheless - the phone rang and it was someone from the UK papers asking if I could get the lowdown on Abu Qatada's return to Jordan from the UK. The lower house of the Jordanian parliament had just ratified a treaty meaning Jordan could start to bring back its criminals who are currently seeking refuge in the UK - which includes the now infamous Abu Q, and Walid Kurdi, the husband of one of the Jordanian royal family, Princess Basma, found guilty of corruption charges during his time as head of a phosphates company.

My entire day was consumed by the task - and although I now know a lot of helpful people in this city - it wasn't until 5pm that the calls started to come back in with information. And as I was trying to decipher details over the phone from thick Jordanian accents about legal and governmental moves afoot both here and back home, in capered our pet dwarves, exhausted, whining and screaming. Within minutes there were apples with bites taken out of them rolling around the floor,  bidets gushing water, and contents of all the kitchen drawers spread about the sitting room. I managed to make their tea with the phone under my chin, finally finished the calls, and spoke to the news desk who deemed there wasn't a story in it...yet, as we don't know how long this process will take. The Lozenge came and sat beside me as I collapsed onto the sofa. As he wiped his hand, covered in chocolate biscuit, on the beige fabric, he asked me: 'Mummy, are you croth?' 'Yes' I said. 'Very.' There was a silence, and then he said. 'Mummy, you're beautiful.'

The following day was worse, as I continued my furious wrangle with DHL which I fear I might be about to lose - since no one is willing or able to break the chain of corruption between customs and businesses like DHL, who ship here. I'm dependent on my camera for work, which has now been sitting in their store for 3 weeks (after I paid for a 4 day door to door delivery). I hate to think what's left of it - after it's been manhandled by customs officials, all the while calculating the spoils they can claim, based on 25% of its worth. I feel totally betrayed and I'm still over a barrel. The longer you stay in this country, the more rackets you witness. Poor St Grace, our cleaner, has been charged £1000 by the man who 'represents' her here, to get a one month visa for her 10 year old son to visit from Sri Lanka this year. We're victims in the same corrupt cycle - and it hurts.

Then J and I heard that the cucumbers and strawberries here are so covered in pesticides by farmers (to make them look prettier and sell more) they're unsafe to eat, and J said it feels like we're stuck in the middle of a furious human scramble to make money - off anything and anyone - at anyone's expense.

We had a sudden longing for freedom and open spaces. Particularly as we listened to a man talking on Radio 4 about 'wildifiation' in the UK, and panting as he scrambled up hills in Wales, explaining how he connects with himself as he gets back to his roots in nature. It felt a long way away from this place, which at times feels like it's retreating from many of its noble beginnings. And it hasn't got to the stage of development where humans go back on themselves and search for naked truths.  How we miss home at times.

J and I found ourselves eating a cheese and pickle sandwich for lunch.