At this point a year ago, I found myself on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a big pop star, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in a Surrey location. It had been a good night, but now, simply to make conversation, I questioned ways to dodge the common cold when half the people at the party were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction of the Singers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area responded in two ways. Firstly, they edged away from me. Second, they launched into an animated conversation on how to avoid catching colds which understandable due to their profession was something of an obsession for them. 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. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to the staff before I deafened them all, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. When I started college, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I have the perfect solution, you dear. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, are ineffective. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she was highly committed. She commanded us to use hand gel hourly throughout the winter as far as I could deduce and, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Drastic. It appealed to me. And, get this, she mandated a second dose post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
The Results
I adopted the method. And I have to say I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the numerous products I purchased, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, 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. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.
