Around this period last year, I found myself participating in a broadcast alongside three vocalists. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, and an acclaimed classical singer. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, but now, to break the silence, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Reaction from the Three Performers
At mention of my night out, these three musicians backstage at the TV studio took two actions. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they launched into an animated conversation about preventing colds which understandable due to their profession was something of an obsession for them. I understand that, yet I'm personally involved – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I firmly believe it. My illnesses drag on. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to his team to avoid auditory overload, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Blocked Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She stood and watched me do so. Goodness gracious. Didn’t achieve anything, unfortunately, apart from sending my guts into raptures and creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I listened intently together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, extra steps were needed for social events and gatherings. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the product.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, bought again, rediscovered, and more. Plus the frustrating time when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. However, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
