This time a year ago, I ended up on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, but now, to break the silence, I pondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold as numerous attendees were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
Their Take from the Trio
When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours in the TV green room did two things. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds and this expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – I need to dodge colds no matter what since my colds are more severe than others'. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. I experience worse nasal blockage, I have a more irritated throat, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My family, alert to the initial throat noises that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me 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 everyone before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mom advocates … they all work for a while until they fail. Nothing is quite as sad 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. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. When I started college, separated from family care, the cleaner in our halls of residence took pity on me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the uncooked, peeled onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then along with the rapper and the pop star as the singer detailed her prevention methods. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she was highly committed. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce plus, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Prior to socializing, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the solution.
My Experience
I was in. And I have to say I snuffled not once all last winter. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, bought again, located, etc. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle kept in your jeans and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
