This time last year, I ended up on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Present were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. 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. The festivities were fun, yet now, to break the silence, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
The Reaction from the Trio
At mention of my night out, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, 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 – I must avoid colds at all costs as my symptoms are harsher than most. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the studio director would holler to everyone prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, I could go on and on. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they help briefly before giving up. It's hard to find something more pathetic than a Brummie tone spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn’t always a good thing. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Health Routine
Thus, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I listened intently together with the other artists when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she clearly took it all very seriously. She instructed us to use hand gel hourly all winter long from what I gathered plus, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. It appealed to me. Moreover, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, reacquired, located, etc. Plus the frustrating time when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
