Around this period last year, I found myself filming a television show alongside three vocalists. Present were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a big pop star, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. It was an enjoyable evening, yet now, just for something to say, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold as numerous attendees were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? A question for another day.
The Response by the Three Performers
Upon referencing the party, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area did two things. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Next, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds that expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me 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. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the director would shout to the staff to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Handling Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mum prescribes … they provide temporary relief before giving up. It's hard to find something more pathetic than a Brummie tone uttered with blocked nasal passages. That is, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. I'll return shortly.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and adamant that I consume the uncooked, peeled onion she offered me in bed. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. It didn't help at all, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I focused carefully together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter as far as I could deduce and, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she advised several sprays of a nasal spray up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. 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 must admit I remained cold-free. There were downsides: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, reacquired, found, and so on. 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 now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm fully prepared with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
