At this point last year, I found myself on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Present were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. Just the night prior, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, yet now, just for something to say, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and some do not? Something to explore later.
The Reaction by the Singers
When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion on how to avoid catching colds which understandable due to their profession was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I lack official documentation, but I know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to his team prior to me blasting their ears, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they help briefly until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable than a Brummie tone delivered with no nasal airflow. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. When I started college, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Bless her. Didn’t achieve anything, unfortunately, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Therefore, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I listened intently alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months based on her explanation in addition, extra steps were needed during festivities. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of Vicks First Defence into both nostrils – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. I appreciated it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I have to say I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, repurchased, rediscovered, and more. 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. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
