Around this period last year, I ended up filming a television show in the company of three performers. Present were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. It was an enjoyable evening, yet now, simply to make conversation, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. Incidentally, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and some do not? A question for another day.
The Response from the Trio
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. First, they edged away from me. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds which understandable due to their profession was a major concern 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 illnesses drag on. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My family, alert to the initial throat noises 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. “Headphones off!” the director would shout to the staff before I deafened them all, overloading their audio gear.
Handling Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they all work for a while until they fail. It's hard to find something more pathetic 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, without my mother's home remedies, the cleaner in our halls of residence took pity on me. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Bless her. It didn't help at all, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour all winter long as far as I could deduce plus, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. I appreciated it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.
My Experience
I adopted the method. And I can report I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the many containers I acquired, lost, reacquired, rediscovered, and more. And the disappointing instant when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. However, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm fully prepared with her prevention arsenal. I'm prepared to combat.
