Around this period last year, I was filming a television show in the company of three performers. There was a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, 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, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Trio
Upon referencing the party, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they started a passionate debate regarding ways to stay cold-free that understandable due to their profession was almost an obsession. I get that, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to his team to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly until they fail. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. That is, 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’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I'll return shortly.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Bless her. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Health Routine
Thus, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She directed us to use hand gel hourly during the cold months based on her explanation and, extra steps were needed for social events and gatherings. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Drastic. I like it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I have to say I snuffled not once all last winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, repurchased, found, etc. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. However, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
