This time the previous year, I found myself on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The previous evening, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in a Surrey location. It was an enjoyable evening, but now, just for something to say, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
The Response by the Trio
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they edged away from me. Secondly, they launched into an animated conversation on how to avoid catching colds that naturally enough given their line of work was a major concern for them. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or leave themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to the staff before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mom advocates … they all work for a while until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent uttered with blocked nasal passages. That is, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She stood and watched me do so. Kind soul. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Thus, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I paid close attention then together with the other artists as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She directed us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter based on her explanation plus, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Drastic. I appreciated it. Moreover, she required a repeat application later with additional bursts of the same stuff.
My Experience
I was in. And I can report I remained cold-free. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, bought again, found, etc. And the disappointing instant when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I’m ready for battle.
