This time the previous year, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. Included were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, yet now, to break the silence, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold as numerous attendees were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and some do not? A topic for future discussion.
The Response by the Singers
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the TV green room responded in two ways. First, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion regarding ways to stay cold-free that understandable due to their profession was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs since my colds are more severe than others'. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. My nose is more blocked, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My family, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the director would shout to everyone to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. In other words, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. When I started college, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation felt sorry for me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She observed me eating it. Bless her. No improvement resulted, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Therefore, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she clearly took it all very seriously. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter as far as I could deduce in addition, extra steps were needed for social events and gatherings. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she mandated a second dose after the party with another couple of squirts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, bought again, found, and so on. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
