Around this period the previous year, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Present were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. Just the night prior, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, but now, just for something to say, I wondered how it was possible to avoid catching a cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and some do not? A question for another day.
The Response of the Trio
Upon referencing the party, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio took two actions. To begin with, they edged away from me. Secondly, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds which naturally enough given their line of work was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My illnesses drag on. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My family, familiar with the early throat signs indicating trouble ahead, sometimes banish me or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes learned to recognize the signals. “Headphones off!” the producer would yell to the staff to avoid auditory overload, damaging their headset equipment.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mum prescribes … they help briefly before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. That is, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, unfortunately, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Mezzo-Soprano’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues 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 directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, there were special precautions required when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product into both nostrils – even if healthy. Extreme. I like it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, reacquired, rediscovered, etc. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm fully prepared with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
