Around this period a year ago, I found myself participating in a broadcast alongside three vocalists. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. 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 in a Surrey location. It had been a good night, but now, just for something to say, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. By the way, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction from the Singers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. To begin with, they edged away from me. Next, they started a passionate debate regarding ways to stay cold-free and this understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, 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. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to the staff before I deafened them all, overloading their audio gear.
Handling Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, 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 spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. That is, it can sound nasal even normally. 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 have the perfect solution, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure which traditional or modern, are ineffective. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter as far as I could deduce in addition, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. I appreciated it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the solution.
The Results
I followed suit. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, and so on. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I’m ready for battle.
