Around this period the previous year, I was filming a television show with three singers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in the Surrey region. It was an enjoyable evening, but now, to break the silence, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. On a side note, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Response of the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds which naturally enough given their line of work was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I lack official documentation, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat is scratchier, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Headphones off!” the studio director would holler to the staff prior to me blasting their ears, damaging their headset equipment.
Managing Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad than a Brummie tone delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and adamant that I consume the uncooked, peeled onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures which onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I listened intently along with the rapper and the pop star when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She instructed us to sanitize hands regularly all winter long based on her explanation plus, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Extreme. I like it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were downsides: the numerous products I purchased, lost, reacquired, found, and more. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's oozing out. However, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
