Around this period last year, I ended up on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. Just the night prior, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, but now, simply to make conversation, 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. By the way, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and some do not? Something to explore later.
The Response by the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists in the waiting area responded in two ways. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion regarding ways to stay cold-free that expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs since my colds are more severe than others'. I lack official documentation, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to the staff to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mum prescribes … they help briefly before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad as the sound of a Birmingham accent uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and demanded I eat the peeled, raw onion she presented to me. She monitored my consumption. Bless her. It didn't help at all, unfortunately, except for upsetting my stomach and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Therefore, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that whether folk remedies or not, fail to help. I paid close attention then together with the other artists as the singer detailed her prevention methods. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she was highly committed. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months from what I gathered plus, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of Vicks First Defence into both nostrils – regardless of symptoms. Intense. I like it. And, get this, she required a repeat application later with additional bursts of the product.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I have to say I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, bought again, located, and so on. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's oozing out. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
