This time last year, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. Just the night prior, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, however at that moment, just for something to say, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? A question for another day.
The Reaction from the Three Performers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they edged away from me. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds that expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I get that, but I have skin in this game too – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, sometimes banish me or evacuate the area. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Headphones off!” the producer would yell to everyone before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mum prescribes … they provide temporary relief until they fail. Nothing is quite as sad 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, which isn’t always a good thing. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the cleaner in our halls of residence felt sorry for me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you unfortunate soul. I'll return shortly.” She was wonderfully sweet, very Irish, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and creating bad breath.
The Vocalist’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Thus, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She instructed us to sanitize hands regularly during the cold months as far as I could deduce and, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. I appreciated it. And, get this, she mandated a second dose post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
My Experience
I followed suit. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, reacquired, located, etc. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it's leaking all over. Still, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm fully prepared with her prevention arsenal. I’m ready for battle.
