This time the previous year, I found myself participating in a broadcast with three singers. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, but now, to break the silence, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. First, they shrunk away from me slightly. Next, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion on how to avoid catching colds and this expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My colds last longer. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, the unfortunate crew in the control room grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to the staff before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they help briefly before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. In other words, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. 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 felt sorry for me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the uncooked, peeled onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I listened intently along with the rapper and the pop star as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to use hand gel hourly throughout the winter based on her explanation plus, there were special precautions required during festivities. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray into both nostrils – even if healthy. Drastic. I appreciated it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the solution.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I have to say I remained cold-free. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, reacquired, rediscovered, and more. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. However, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm fully prepared with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
