This time a year ago, I was participating in a broadcast in the company of three performers. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, however at that moment, to break the silence, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold as numerous attendees were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Reaction of the Singers
At mention of my night out, the group of artists in the TV green room did two things. First, they edged away from me. Second, they launched into an animated conversation regarding ways to stay cold-free which naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, but I firmly believe it. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Headphones off!” the studio director would holler to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mum prescribes … they all work for a while until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn’t always a good thing. When I started college, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation felt sorry for me. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that whether folk remedies or not, don’t work. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce plus, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Prior to socializing, she advised several sprays of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Intense. I like it. And, listen to this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the product.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, misplaced, repurchased, found, etc. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. However, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
