Around this period last year, I was on a TV programme with three singers. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. The previous evening, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, yet now, just for something to say, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction of the Three Performers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area did two things. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds and this expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. 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, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. I experience worse nasal blockage, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. Those at home, alert to the initial throat noises that signal an oncoming cold, often shoo me away or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to everyone prior to me blasting their ears, overloading their audio gear.
Managing Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while before giving up. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, 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. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she presented to me. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. It didn't help at all, unfortunately, other than causing digestive turmoil and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Thus, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter from what I gathered and, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she advised several sprays of a nasal spray into both nostrils – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. I appreciated it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the same stuff.
The Results
I was in. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, bought again, found, and more. And the disappointing instant when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
