At this point the previous year, I ended up on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. Present were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. Just the night prior, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, yet now, to break the silence, I pondered how one could prevent getting a cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction from the Trio
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the TV green room responded in two ways. Firstly, they edged away from me. Second, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds which naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. I get that, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the director would shout to his team to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Managing Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while until they fail. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. I mean, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. 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 have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was very lovely, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. It didn't help at all, unfortunately, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Health Routine
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I paid close attention then along with the rapper and the pop star as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter based on her explanation plus, there were special precautions required when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. It appealed to me. And, get this, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, repurchased, located, etc. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle kept in your jeans and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.
