Around this period last year, I was participating in a broadcast with three singers. Present were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. By the way, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Singers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the TV green room took two actions. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds that naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. I get that, 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, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, sometimes banish me or clear the room themselves. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to the staff before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Managing Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don’t start me. Sprays, drops, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent uttered with blocked nasal passages. I mean, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn’t always a good thing. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and adamant that I consume the uncooked, peeled onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Health Routine
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that whether folk remedies or not, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter from what I gathered plus, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. I appreciated it. And, listen to this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the solution.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I have to say I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, etc. And that dispiriting moment when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
