This time a year ago, I found myself filming a television show with three singers. Present were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, and a famous 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 in the Surrey region. 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 contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and some do not? A topic for future discussion.
The Response by the Singers
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the TV green room responded in two ways. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds that naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, yet I'm personally involved – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My relatives, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes learned to recognize the signals. “Earpieces out!” the studio director would holler to the staff prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, I could go on and on. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. I'll return shortly.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she presented to me. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. No improvement resulted, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I focused carefully together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she was highly committed. She commanded us to sanitize hands regularly all winter long as far as I could deduce plus, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product into both nostrils – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. It appealed to me. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the product.
My Experience
I adopted the method. And I can report I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, bought again, rediscovered, etc. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. However, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I'm fully prepared with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
