Around this period the previous year, I was participating in a broadcast in the company of three performers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. Just the night prior, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, however at that moment, just for something to say, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold as numerous attendees were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
The Response by the Trio
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the TV green room did two things. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Next, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds which expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. I get that, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, familiar with the early throat signs that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the director would shout to everyone before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, 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 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. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn’t always a good thing. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that traditional or modern, don’t work. I listened intently 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 directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour all winter long from what I gathered in addition, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product into both nostrils – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the solution.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I have to say I remained cold-free. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, reacquired, rediscovered, and so on. Plus the frustrating time when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer 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 stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
