At this point the previous year, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. Just the night prior, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. It had been a good night, yet now, simply to make conversation, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and some do not? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction from the Three Performers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours backstage at the TV studio took two actions. First, they edged away from me. Secondly, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds and this naturally enough given their line of work was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – I need to dodge colds no matter what as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to everyone before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mum prescribes … they provide temporary relief before giving up. 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. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. When I started college, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and adamant that I consume the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I despise catching colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She directed us to sanitize hands regularly all winter long from what I gathered and, extra steps were needed for social events and gatherings. Ahead of any such engagement, she advised several sprays of a nasal spray up each nostril – even if healthy. Intense. I like it. And, get this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the many containers I acquired, misplaced, repurchased, rediscovered, etc. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it's leaking all over. Still, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
