Around this period a year ago, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I questioned ways to dodge the common cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
The Response of the Trio
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the TV green room did two things. Firstly, they edged away from me. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds which expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. I get that, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my teammates behind the scenes learned to recognize the signals. “Headphones off!” the director would shout to everyone prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Stuffy Noses
When it comes to congestion, don’t start me. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Mezzo-Soprano’s Prevention Strategy
Therefore, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She instructed us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter as far as I could deduce and, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – even if healthy. Extreme. I appreciated it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I can report I remained cold-free. There were downsides: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, repurchased, found, and more. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle you left in your back pocket and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
