I am sitting here in my pyjamas nursing Lux. Her parents are asleep next door. She came in to play, to kick, to crow, to wave her hands around. She has long fluttering fingers that are never still: she is like a tiny sea anemone, but one with intense dark eyes, a cupid's bow mouth, a pointy chin and a very serious expression. I am 5,000 miles from home, but I'm never alone with a grand child, even when she's asleep.