Around this period last year, I was on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space in the Surrey region. The festivities were fun, yet now, just for something to say, I wondered ways to dodge the common cold as numerous attendees were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. By the way, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? Something to explore later.
The Reaction by the Three Performers
Upon referencing the party, these three musicians in the TV green room did two things. First, they moved back a bit. Second, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds and this expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, sometimes banish me or clear the room themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Headphones off!” the producer would yell to the staff to avoid auditory overload, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mum prescribes … they all work for a while before giving up. It's hard to find something more pathetic as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. When I started college, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaner in our halls of residence felt sorry for me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, unfortunately, 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 traditional or modern, are ineffective. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she was highly committed. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour all winter long as far as I could deduce plus, there were special precautions required during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product up each nostril – even if healthy. Intense. It appealed to me. And, listen to this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the product.
The Results
I was in. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, bought again, rediscovered, and more. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's oozing out. Still, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with her prevention arsenal. I'm prepared to combat.
