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Today marks the end of an era. I’ve just completed my last journey on the train from Ipswich for the foreseeable future, as my season ticket runs out next week. Now I don’t live in the Suffolk town, my new one runs from Chelmsford to London only. So now any journeys to the flat or mum’s in Lowestoft will be made by car, ending five years of travel down the mainline from Suffolk to the capital.

No more Intercity trains (which are luxurious when compared to the old Great Eastern rolling stock which run around the rails in Essex); no more 90-minute journeys which last 15 minutes more than they should; no more hideously long delays when trains run out of steam past Chelmsford; and no more being caught in the football crowds when Ipswich Town are playing at home mid-week (the Portman Road ground used to be part of my walk to the station).

Now, further down the line, I have arguably more crowded trains in the morning (they start further down the line, and Chelmsford is pretty much the last stop before London); smaller seats (the older, less plush Great Eastern rolling stock); and a 45-minute journey most mornings, which is still 10 minutes over what it should be, providing the service arrived on time in the first place.

There are good points, too, though. That shorter journey does help, but the daily delay doesn’t. The house move and shorter journey at least means that I get home much earlier, though, which has to be a good thing. There’s also no more journeying down on to Chelmsford on a Saturday morning as I sometimes used to, as I’m already there. Will I miss the day trippers who are noisier than commuters? I don’t think so.

So, that’s it. It’s now Chelmsford living proper. It won’t be the last time I’m in Ipswich for sure, as the flat still needs to be sorted for renting. But it will be the last train journey up the line for a while. And today was the kind of day we dream of: a sunny and bright one, when we get on a quieter train in the opposite direction to everyone else, rather than the crowded and unreliable trains run by National Express East Anglia usually.

I had the laptop out for the journey up today, but just sat and relaxed on the way back. Watching the flat and big-skied East Anglian landscape speed past the window, I thought about what had changed over the last five years, and how the twist and turns of life and fate have brought me to where I am now. I couldn’t decide what music to listen to on the return journey - which is a rarity - and couldn’t really settle either, so I flicked between songs that took my fancy.

A typically good off-peak on-time journey, as we pulled into a sunny and deserted Chelmsford station, the last track that had been playing stopped. What was it? Donna Summer’s Sentimental from the late 1980s was seemingly apt at least, if nothing else.

Oscar moved into the house when Nik did, but today was the first time he’s ever brought in a present for us. He’d brought in all sorts of things when he lived with Nik’s sister when he was living his previous life in Sidcup, but had yet to bring us gifts until today.

I returned from work to find a large mouse with a very wet face in the hallway. Looking at it and then at me several times, Oscar gave his game away. The little rodent was dispensed with in the bin, but the thing is, did he bring it in as we think, or did he find it in the house squeaking around the skirting boards?

(Apologies for the bad quality mobile phone picture.)

We finally repaid the dinner invitation from August 2007, and had Steven and Anthony round on Saturday evening. Busy in the kitchen on Saturday afternoon, we were pleased with our three-course efforts. We produced a veritable pre-poker and sloe gin feast, serving up the roasted pepper and tomato soup I made a few weeks back for mum and Bart, quiches lorraine and broccoli and cheese (with tomato salad), and chocolate mousse.

Now that we have room in the outhouse to use it, I wanted a bread machine recipe for bread to eat with the soup, but I couldn’t find either the instruction manual or the recipe book that came with it. A few minutes online turned one up, though, and although it wasn’t specifically for our Bifinett KH1171, it was for automatic bread machines, which was good enough.

Making enough for a 750g loaf, the ingredients list below needs fine tuning, as our dough only rose to half the height it should have been (a common error if internet forums are anything to go by). It was tasty nonetheless, and was very dense; fine for soup, but I don’t think it would make a good sandwich.

Ingredients
1 and-a-quarter cups of water
1 teaspoon of salt
2 tablespoons of sugar
3 cups of bread flour (white, granary, or wholemeal)
2 tablespoons of instant dry milk powder
2 teaspoons of bread machine yeast

Method
This will be different for each automatic bread making machine, but our model required the water, salt, sugar, and flour to go in first (in that order), followed by the instant dry milk powder and then finally the yeast. With the browning level set to medium, we left it for just under three hours until the machine had finished its process.

You may find you can tip out the loaf from the tin while still warm, but our paddles wouldn’t release until the dough had cooled, when the job was much easier. So, when cooled, tip out of the loaf tin, and serve immediately. Just as with shop-bought bread, the loaf can be stored in a clipped or tied food bag for three to four days.

Sunday afternoon was a noisy one. We may even have turned the tables and disturbed mum’s neighbours, with the amount of noise we were making. Why? For a couple of hours we played Perudo, a bluffing game, which is probably one of the noisiest parlour games ever invented (this computer version is much quieter, though).

Originating in 1988 and inspired by the Peruvian game, Liar Dice, Perudo (as its inspiration suggests) is played with dice. The rules are quite simple. Each player starts with five dice and a cup. Through a process of luck, bluffing, and bidding, the number of dice in play is reduced, and the last player with any dice left is the winner.

The rounds go like this. All players shake and tip out the dice from their cups, concealing them from the other players. The starting player then makes a call based on the number of dice of a specific value there are under the remaining cups on the table. Probability undoubtedly plays a part, with ones (or aces) as wildcards, counted as the value of whichever face number the starting player chooses.

The player on the left of the starting player then makes a call, until all players have bid. As the play goes around the table, each bid must be higher than the last, but doesn’t have to be based on the number started by the opening player. For example, play may start with ‘Five twos’ and the next player may call ‘Six fours’ and so on.

Every time, the stakes are raised for the next player, in order for them to call that the previous player show their dice and see how many of a particular value lay on the table. The aces come into play when, if a player doubts there are ‘Six fours’ for example, he or she can call half that number of aces (in this case, ‘Three ones’).

If the next player does not wish to bid on aces, they may raise the number of a die value, bit with a minimum bid of twice the number of aces. If a player doubts the number of dice on the table of the value in play, they may call for all of them to be shown.

If they are correct in their doubting, they win. The losing player then loses one die, and starts the next round. Play continues until there is just one winning player left with any dice. Differing rules for Palafico rounds for any player who starts with only one die also apply.

Although Bart won the first game we played, he lost the other two, proving that strategy isn’t always the answer to winning. And while it wasn’t as popular a game as Blob or Donkey, it did give us another afternoon of family fun. We’d been to the award-winning Norman Warrior for lunch, as Sandie, Doug, Kevin and Janice were visiting, and in need of a wake-up, Perudo was the perfect shake-up we needed.

Our laying ladies have been popping out eggs for almost two months now. And, as we have three, we should have had at least three eggs some days – one from each of Barbara, Gerry, and Margot. But, we’ve always had two, and though we think they’re all laying now, we suspect Gerry took her time, and was a late starter.

So, imagine our surprise when four eggs were waiting for us on Tuesday morning; the first proper cold snap day of the winter. As two were fleshy white in colour, we’re guessing that Barbara was the busy bird, popping out two reasonably sized eggs in less than 12 hours.

We’ve had 40% larger eggs, barren days with none, and we rarely have two eggs to collect at the same time, so how all four ended up being laid in the same space of time (and overnight, too, it would seem), we just don’t know.

In egg related news, I am now the proud owner of four novelty VW camper van egg cups. Bought for me in celebration of our second year together, they’re bright in colour, have different registration numbers, and are by far the most faithful to the real thing of all the designs on offer from the various internet retailers.

Never before will egg eating have been so much fun, as we can now make traffic jams on our plates (using toasted soldiers as roadblocks), and pretend that any over-running yolk is a serious oil leak, just like the egg cups’ real life counterparts. Egg-citing and egg-stra cute special egg cups indeed. Happy Anniversary!