Around this period the previous year, I was filming a television show alongside three vocalists. Present were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. Just the night prior, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, however at that moment, just for something to say, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. Incidentally, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? Something to explore later.
The Reaction from the Singers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds that expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – I must avoid colds at all costs as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My family, familiar with the early throat signs 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 grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mom advocates … they all work for a while until they fail. It's hard to find something more pathetic as the sound of a Birmingham accent spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. 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 cleaner in our halls of residence took pity on me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was very lovely, with a strong Irish accent, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she presented to me. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Mezzo-Soprano’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I paid close attention then together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She directed us to use hand gel hourly during the cold months based on her explanation in addition, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray through the nasal passages – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. I appreciated it. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I can report I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the many containers I acquired, lost, reacquired, found, etc. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
