This time last year, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, but now, just for something to say, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.
Their Take of the Singers
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio took two actions. Firstly, they edged away from me. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion regarding ways to stay cold-free which expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I get that, 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 colds last longer. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My family, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances indicating trouble ahead, sometimes banish me or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to the staff prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Managing Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before giving up. And there’s nothing as pitiable than a Brummie tone uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she presented to me. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then 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 approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter based on her explanation plus, there were special precautions required for social events and gatherings. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Drastic. It appealed to me. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, bought again, rediscovered, and so on. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. Still, all a price worth paying. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.
