At this point a year ago, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. Just the night prior, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in the Surrey region. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, just for something to say, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
The Reaction of the Singers
At mention of my night out, the group of artists in the TV green room took two actions. To begin with, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds which naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. I get that, yet I'm personally involved – I must avoid colds at all costs since my colds are more severe than others'. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, 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 became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the studio director would holler to the staff to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mom advocates … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was very lovely, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the uncooked, peeled 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 creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures which whether folk remedies or not, fail to help. I focused carefully together with the other artists when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter from what I gathered in addition, extra steps were needed for social events and gatherings. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray into both nostrils – even if healthy. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, mislaid, bought again, found, etc. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's oozing out. Still, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
