This time last year, I was participating in a broadcast with three singers. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. It had been a good night, but now, simply to make conversation, 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. By the way, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? A topic for future discussion.
The Response of the Singers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds and this understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. I understand 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 know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. Those at home, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to his team to avoid auditory overload, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they provide temporary relief before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation showed me kindness. “I know exactly what you need, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She observed me eating it. Bless her. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Health Routine
So no, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I listened intently alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter from what I gathered plus, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. I like it. Moreover, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I remained cold-free. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, bought again, located, and more. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. With winter returning, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
