Around this period a year ago, I found myself on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. It was an enjoyable evening, but now, simply to make conversation, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. On a side note, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Trio
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio took two actions. To begin with, they edged away from me. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion regarding ways to stay cold-free that expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. I get that, yet I'm personally involved – I need to dodge colds no matter what since my colds are more severe than others'. I lack official documentation, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, sometimes banish me or clear the room themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the director would shout to the staff before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mum prescribes … they help briefly before giving up. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. That is, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you unfortunate soul. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and creating bad breath.
The Vocalist’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce and, extra steps were needed during festivities. Prior to socializing, she advised several sprays of a nasal spray up each nostril – even if healthy. Drastic. It appealed to me. Moreover, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the solution.
My Experience
I was in. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, repurchased, rediscovered, and so on. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. However, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
