This time a year ago, I found myself filming a television show alongside three vocalists. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. It was an enjoyable evening, yet now, to break the silence, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold with many partygoers were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the waiting area responded in two ways. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they launched into an animated conversation on how to avoid catching colds that understandable due to their profession was something of an obsession for them. I get that, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I firmly believe it. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat is scratchier, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to everyone to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mom advocates … they provide temporary relief until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable than a Brummie tone uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, though that's not necessarily beneficial. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and adamant that I consume the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Bless her. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I despise catching colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating which onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she clearly took it all very seriously. She directed us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter from what I gathered plus, 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. Drastic. I like it. And, listen to this, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the solution.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, repurchased, rediscovered, etc. And the disappointing instant when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. 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.
