PODCAST · fiction
Infinitely Distracting
by Peter Loveday
Each Sunday, tune in for the next chapter of "Infinitely Distracting", written and delivered by author Peter Loveday, (Cover photo by Bleddyn Butcher. All other photos, sketches, etches, paintings and music by Peter Loveday.)
Episodes
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The harvest song
The tinsel titter of morning birds. The timeless chatter of life. We are on our way again and every day is different. Then, there it is, the very thing that I have been looking for.
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Rendezvous with epiphany and otherness
We come in different shapes and sizes, with different ways and tastes, displaying different airs and graces. We all have our own way to move through the day. Perhaps it is this, the secret to our chemistry, this harmonious incompatibility. (Illustration and incidental music by the author. AI not...
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The night of this perfect day
We breathe air, we eat, we drink, we speak our minds and strive to listen… sometimes... Is this what being on tour is really like? (Illustration and incidental music by the author. AI not used at all.)
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Champions of the unexpected
It is impossible to say if any of this pondering is of importance past this point, or better said, it is clear that none of this pondering will be of importance whatsoever past this point, that is to say, past this point in time. The here and the now are more important than pondering.…
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Keeping it alive
And in this it does serve to remind of scenes that pass and roads that wind as into the fracas it strays as soon as you look the other way (Illustration and incidental music by the author. AI not ever used at all.)
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Eager and in motion
. There it is before me, the levelling sea, the calming sea, the resetting sea, just being, omnipresent in morning leaves of sunlight fluttering on its skin, banishing muddle-headedness, incidental thoughts and lethargy, doubt and indecision. (Song: "Sea Song" from the album "The Faraway Near".
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We are what we are
...and there is no arguing with that. Who was it who said, "be yourself, everybody else is already taken"? (Illustration and incidental music by the author. AI not used at all.)
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Chance encounters of the curious kind
To be honest, there is nothing I like better than these chance encounters of the curious kind, generally intriguing, often enlightening, sometimes uplifting, this essential contact with others.. (Song: "No Longer", from the album Through the Mirror)
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Pedalling madly towards the day
There is still some story to tell, so I guess there is no avoiding it, I will go on telling it. This won’t last forever, so best to make the most of it. (Song: "No Longer", from the album Through the Mirror)
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Feasting on the night’s riches
Coming down after a performance... it's never easy. (Song excerpt: "Big Fish" — Tiny Town flexi-disc, 1983.)
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Soar in circles above the square
We have certainly travelled of late, back and forth across land and sea. (Song excerpt: "Big Fish" — Tiny Town flexi-disc, 1983.)
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The ships that we set sail
Sound check, and soon those songs set sail. We've built them as strong as we can, now we must let them go, set them on their way.
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A beast of burden
This improbable adventure advances.
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The place to be
This is the place to be. What we make of it, is yet to see,
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Our spirits lift
The bungalow falls silent, but soon the silence is interrupted by the soft sound of snoring, of grinding teeth, and of huffing and sighing. The intention was to confirm that the bunks were adequate, … apparently, they are.
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When all is said and done
Eventually, with persistence, with perseverance, you get to your destination, in theory.
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The way we make
There is nobody here but us on this particular stage, on this particular part of the stage, on this particular island, at this particular time of day. We walk at the side of the road, in search of our accommodation.
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Loverboy, lost weekend, my ex-wife
We sight land at first light, an island resting on the sea, drawing near. (Song excerpt "Cloud song", from the album "The Faraway Near" - Peter Loveday)
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Melancholic joy and promise
I have paused and I have taken a breath. I have paused and looked up at the moon, my head no longer filled with the scenes and smells of old London, as it was back then, head, filled now by the scenes painted by these pages I am reading.
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A fairytale ensemble
A discreet and distant moon is shining down to sprinkle a narrow path of magic on the sea, a path we are about to go down, and that I will tell you about, very soon.
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It doesn’t help at all
Stimulating lies. That’s what they are, those songs, those stories, those memories, those other lives, lived and not lived, I mean to say, imagined, reconfigured over time to suit one’s particular needs.
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Stimulating lies
A fictious account of the making of an album; the year, 1984, Brixton, London. Fiction is a category of its own. Not exactly truth, processed, coaxed or beaten into stimulating lies.
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The grace of their play
How encouraging that is, to feel that, in some small and fragile way, you can reach out to people, touch and be touched, which appears to be, which appears to me, to be, as a band I mean, what we thirst for, and probably not as a band as well, this connection we seek, this belonging we lust, this...
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Going underground
It’s dark down there, always dark, dark in the daytime, the tunnels funnelling down into the most absolute nothingness.
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The first circus
Delving into the drawers of memory, many treasures you can find.
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Fanzine interview
Fanzine interview, recorded on a Philips N2227 portable cassette recorder, on a park bench, Soho Square, two-thirty p.m., and to be typed up … soon.
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Where I really should be
All this is just a stepping stone to … where I really should be.
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How the story ends
Another day gone by, in this curious land that I cannot call home, for now, an alien I am, longing and not belonging.
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The spirit of songs
When you start walking, different paths appear. And this path that I have taken, brings me, right now, right here.
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Walk awkwardly like a newly-born fawn
I teeter for a time and then walk awkwardly like a newly-born fawn, venturing out and about, all the way downstairs and to the kitchen.
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Morning awakening
I wake from a strange dream in the early hours of some new day, the bed floating on a dense dark sea, a tenebrous glow on the horizon. (Quotes from “Peasants” by Anton Chekhov. Song: "Being born" from the album "Through the mirror".)
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One could wonder
It doesn’t always go as planned. Often, there is no plan. Detailed drawings we do not have, simply brief reminders scribbled on back of hand, a scrap of envelope, or scratched in the dirt with a stick. (Music excerpt "Through fishes' eyes" from the album "The man who loved flowers" by David...
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The call of the egg
We make our way towards the new year, supping in Soho and slipping books under sweaters and up sleeves, fuelled on cappuccinos and stout, treating hangovers with Feminax, while sitting staring into the depths of dark Rothkos at the Tate. (Music excerpt "Through fishes' eyes" from the album "The…
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The festive spoon
Being on the cusp of festive days, I wander down Brick Lane, in search of a gift of some kind to send home, a token, a souvenir, a reminder, to let my family know that I think of them, … occasionally, … I do. (Music excerpt "Through fishes' eyes" from the album "The Man Who Loved Flowers" by…
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Highs and lows
Highs and lows. High points and low points. The road, always the road, twists and turns. The lie of the land, varied and infinitely distracting.
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Synchronously unique
We have angels up there, looking over us, sometimes guarding us from danger.
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Raw, naked, nasal and histrionic
Without a song, where would we be? Where would we be without a song? Recording new songs in an old school bus, in Ladbroke Grove.
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Room at the inn
The crooked house on the corner of Marlborough Avenue is slowly sinking into the ground, swallowed up by the marsh. But we are light on our feet, nimble and quick, and permanence does not appear on our list of bare essentials. (Song: "Room at the inn" from the album "Room at the inn" (2007) by...
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Ghost ships on a still and empty sea
Spurred on by my own lethargy and lack of achievement, I rise in the morning bewildered but determined, determined to leap into action. Song: "Cloud song" from the album "The Faraway Near" - Peter Loveday.
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Unravelling on a breeze, like a ball of dandelion fluff
Rocking oneself to sleep in a hammock, rocking all the way down into the valley of dreams.
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Weaning the dark forest of her milky light
Once you start, you cannot stop. This rewinding and peering into the past, overcome with backroom reverie and non-specific yearning. The story returns, briefly, to where it began. (Containing quotes from "2666" by Roberto Bolaño) (Song: "Pretty black rose" from the album "For everything a place,...
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Eyes wide with wonder
Long nights stretched out between briefly glimpsed days. Songwriting and a debut in London. The story goes on. (Music: Birds of Tin, "High road, low road".)
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Antidote to unease
this infernal reaching out… blindly… for something
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Brittle domestic bliss
Autumn quickly plummets into winter. Sometimes sleet, sometimes snow, often rain, or constant drizzle. Shoes are full of rain, and from salt on the road, … shoes stain. Feet soaked, toes wrinkling up like raisins. Socks are better … off. Hang them by the gas fire and watch the steam rise.
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The orbit of my calling
I lose myself at night and then come back again in the morning when I wake. How can that be. Where do I go. What exactly do I do there, that it is so hard to recall as soon as I wake. Do I leave my body entirely to float, to wander in the ether of dreams. Is this biology, chemistry, electrical...
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Contradicting myself for dramatic effect
I am sent to the records department of the Law Society in Chancery Lane. Imagine my dismay to discover that they are not the kind of records I envisage.
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Thoughts and impressions for possible future use
Sometimes, things fall into place, mysteriously or methodically. Some believe it to be the work of stars, others put it down to numbers and maths, or even genetic design and disposition. There are those who feel the hand of some powerful being pulling strings, as if we were mere puppets, perhaps…
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Wonders
Small wonders win the day.
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Wholeheartedly devoted
Faced with an empty pocket I am forced to leave aside, for a moment at least, my artistic endeavour in search of income and gainful employment, inevitably implying interruption of dreaming and a slap to the face from reality. (Music: Post-Birds of Tin. Image: Vigeland sculpture, Oslo.)
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Awkward but honest lines
Immersed in distraction, one day leads effortlessly into the next.
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ABOUT THIS SHOW
Each Sunday, tune in for the next chapter of "Infinitely Distracting", written and delivered by author Peter Loveday, (Cover photo by Bleddyn Butcher. All other photos, sketches, etches, paintings and music by Peter Loveday.)
HOSTED BY
Peter Loveday
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Frequently Asked Questions
How many episodes does Infinitely Distracting have?
Infinitely Distracting currently has 191 episodes available on PodParley. New episodes are automatically indexed when they're published to the podcast feed.
What is Infinitely Distracting about?
Each Sunday, tune in for the next chapter of "Infinitely Distracting", written and delivered by author Peter Loveday, (Cover photo by Bleddyn Butcher. All other photos, sketches, etches, paintings and music by Peter Loveday.)
How often does Infinitely Distracting release new episodes?
Infinitely Distracting publishes regularly with 191 episodes available. Check the episode list for the typical release schedule.
Where can I listen to Infinitely Distracting?
You can listen to Infinitely Distracting on PodParley by clicking any episode. We provide an embedded audio player for direct listening, and you can also subscribe via your preferred podcast app using the RSS feed.
Who hosts Infinitely Distracting?
Infinitely Distracting is created and hosted by Peter Loveday.
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