Around this period a year ago, I found myself on a TV programme in the company of three performers. There was a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. Just the night prior, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, yet now, simply to make conversation, I pondered how one could prevent getting a cold with many partygoers 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? A question for another day.
The Reaction from the Trio
Upon referencing the party, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they edged away from me. Next, they launched into an animated conversation on how to avoid catching colds and this understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, I have a more irritated throat, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, the unfortunate crew in the control room grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to everyone prior to me blasting their ears, damaging their headset equipment.
Managing Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum 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 spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I have the perfect solution, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, very Irish, and adamant that I consume the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then along with the rapper and the pop star while she explained her health practices. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to use hand gel hourly during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Intense. It appealed to me. And, get this, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, repurchased, found, and so on. 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 leaking all over. However, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I’m ready for battle.
