September. We're in an icecream parlour in Chemainus after a disappointing performance of the Wizard of Oz. Or maybe it's the story itself that disappoints: written deliberately to avoid tradition, it feels thin and lacking in psychological relevance. The symbolisim seems arbitrary and simplistic. A really glittering performance might cover this up but a competent one does not.

Rain streams down the windows. A table of six adults to our right pose, brandishing large ice creams, while the seventh carefully records the moment on his digital camera, taking several shots to ensure everyone is looking their best. I can't help wondering why. Has something important just happened? Or is it about to? Are they about to take some decisive step - renounce the world, rob a bank, commit collective suicide? Or is this the last time they will meet for many years? Will they print the picture out and treasure it: Us Eating Ice Cream? Probably not: I think of my nephew, who, when on holiday, takes photographs of road signs and records all the meals he eats. Maybe he is not as unusual as I'd thought?

Later, at home, I'm lighting the stove and see in the newspaper I'm about to crumple two reviews of recently published books of amateur photographs. One is called 'Everything I Ate in a Year', and the other 'My Year of Diners'. So: recording one's consumption is clearly the latest thing, and I've just been missing out...?