At this point last year, I ended up filming a television show with three singers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The previous evening, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, to break the silence, I questioned 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, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
The Reaction of the Trio
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours backstage at the TV studio did two things. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they launched into an animated conversation about preventing colds that understandable due to their profession was almost an obsession. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or leave themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the director would shout to his team prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, 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 a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, without my mother's home remedies, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Bless her. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I despise catching colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating which onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I listened intently alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months based on her explanation in addition, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Ahead of any such engagement, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. It appealed to me. And, listen to this, she mandated a second dose after the party with another couple of squirts of the solution.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, found, and so on. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. Still, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm fully prepared with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
