For those at all curious as to the title of this installation (I am almost certain that of all four of you currently indulging my endless drivel, not one of you actually is) the word mooch was very purposefully chosen. Mooch, in my case, refers directly to the nature of my wandering. As, although my journey was one undeniably bolstered by unforeseen curiosity and excitement at finding myself present in the midst of unfamiliar surroundings, it was an adventure that was, as a matter of simple fact, spurred on by an aching, overwhelming all consuming lack of anything else to do. Evidence of this fact is seen in the very origins of my walk. More specifically, in that it was, at its core, a result of an all too familiar impulsive spend. A mistake that I found, was shortly followed by (working only on percentages funded by past similar embarrassments) an almost inevitable disappointment and ultimately an existential regret. I needed to return an Amazon delivery. The grand summation of 19 years of developments in intelligence and brain growth (this being my best description of an increase in intellect only really reinforces the overall point) led me, in all my wisdom, not only to purchase an off-brand smartwatch, but with it a pack of 3 smartwatch screen protectors. Protectors, which I’m sure many of you who also make a habit of completely unjustifiable purchases will be pleased to hear, not only didn’t fit the screen but also rendered the touch interface completely obsolete. A result of some culmination of the undoubtedly skewed engineering and therefore proportions of a copycat watch, and an equally complete failure (though likely due in this case to a lack of any care whatsoever) to craft anything remotely useful or compatible by the screen protection company. The expedition, notwithstanding its touchy roots, met immediate success. Admittedly despite stress. A justified worry regarding the beaten and bruised state my packaging was in (I tore it completely to pieces in a moment of feverish consumerist delight). One not at all helped by Amazon’s return requirement to provide the item in the box it arrived in. However, thanks to a superglue job, my return was accepted, even despite the difficulty of removing the box from my hand which it was now (superly) glued to. Emboldened by the joy of this success I elected to skip out on my usual path and tread into the murky grey waters of the unknown. My impulsivity soon led me to another park which, though I had been to before, lacked any sense of familiarity to me (it had been years since I went and I am a big boy now). A decision which was met, to my surprise, with equal triumph. This new park, this (dare I say) better park was brimming with the exuberant vibrancy of life itself. Immediately upon arrival, an incoherent yet invigorating cacophony of sounds swung into my ears. A distant whistle coupled with an uproar of high-pitched yelps of excitement. A diversity of conversations, all gripping, all engaged, some troubling, most confusing. The warm buzz of a bee, the delicate chirp of a bird. I had stumbled upon the holy grail of all the B-Tier medium sized parks littered around London. However, beyond the sheer vivacity of those who inhabited what appeared (initially) to me another patch of grass, the park itself had much to offer. In my hour stint in the park I traversed rose gardens, football pitches, running tracks, tennis courts, a cafe, an indoor gym, an outdoor gym and most mind bogglingly of all, actually clean public toilets. Not even the kind that still have doors and sinks attached to their relevant hinges and walls, but an actual clean, sanitised toilet. If I thought I was in the promised land before, I was mistaken, this was it. The floor was in the same colour family as it originated, the walls were still white (itself a bold colour choice for the walls of a public toilet in London), and just to top it all off the pristine potty paradise was even air conditioned. It was the kind of toilet that made you change your mind about just needing to pee, for no other reason than to honour whichever god from whichever faith devoted all their time and power into blessing it. However, this high, in some act of divine irony, was soon brought to an end when the heavens opened themselves onto me. Growing dangerously close to reaching drenched status I gracelessly scuttled my way into the park cafe, and after drinking my coffee and seeing the rain had stopped, I elected it was time to make my way home. In my final act of obscene spontaneity, I chose to exit the park from the opposite side, meaning somehow, even despite having lived in London all my life, I was in a neighbourhood I had never been in. One of the first things you realise when living in London is that, for all its numerous counties, postcodes, caffe neros and westfields, the city’s localities have the architectural variety of one of those lego sets you can buy where you can use the same bricks to make two different types of houses. When entering a foreign part of (suburban) London, one of the strangest contradictions that I think exists will begin to cloud your mind. The houses, shops, trees, and even the people all bear a near identical resemblance to those in your native neck of the woods. Yet, just as the multipurpose lego set, are organised and laid out in just a way that leaves just little enough of a speck of confusion and unfamiliarity to assert itself a new area of London. A pattern of repeated shapes in varied orders that my eventual 40 minute walk back (as a result of my incessant inquiries into my own curiosity) allowed me to note. After concluding the longest ever recorded trip to the post office, which I remind you was in its entirety a result of one impulsive purchase, I felt I deserved two more. Now, I write, the proud owner of Life of Pi and Frankenstein. Only choosing the latter because it had that fancy black rectangle at the bottom of the front cover and an italicised alert that it was a classic and therefore that I must read it otherwise I have poor taste. Although, I think we all know I really only bought it because of the funny penguin man on the side.