Around this period last year, I found myself participating in a broadcast alongside three vocalists. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, however at that moment, to break the silence, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
The Response from the Singers
At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they launched into an animated conversation regarding ways to stay cold-free which naturally enough given their line of work was a major concern for them. I understand that, yet I'm personally involved – I need to dodge colds no matter what since my colds are more severe than others'. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My illnesses drag on. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. Those at home, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, the unfortunate crew in the control room grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to his team before I deafened them all, overloading their audio gear.
Handling Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. In other words, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I'll return shortly.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the uncooked, peeled onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Thus, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures which traditional or modern, don’t work. I listened intently alongside my colleagues when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she was highly committed. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter based on her explanation in addition, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Drastic. I like it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, etc. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. With winter returning, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.
