Around this period the previous year, I ended up filming a television show alongside three vocalists. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, however at that moment, to break the silence, I pondered how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? A topic for future discussion.
The Response of the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists in the waiting area responded in two ways. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds which expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I get that, yet I'm personally involved – I need to dodge colds no matter what as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mom advocates … they help briefly before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. When I started college, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I know exactly what you need, you unfortunate soul. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and making my breath smell terrible.
The Vocalist’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I focused carefully together with the other artists when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she approached it with great diligence. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter from what I gathered plus, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray into both nostrils – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. I like it. And, listen to this, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, 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 now splurging everywhere. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.
