This time last year, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, yet now, just for something to say, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. Incidentally, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
Their Take from the Singers
At mention of my night out, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. Firstly, they edged away from me. Next, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds that naturally enough given their line of work was almost an obsession. I get that, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My illnesses drag on. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat is scratchier, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Headphones off!” the producer would yell to his team prior to me blasting their ears, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mum prescribes … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. When I started college, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I focused carefully together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She instructed us to use hand gel hourly throughout the winter from what I gathered and, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray into both nostrils – regardless of symptoms. Intense. I like it. Moreover, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I can report I snuffled not once all last winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, bought again, rediscovered, and so on. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.
