Around this period a year ago, I found myself participating in a broadcast in the company of three performers. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a well-known pop singer, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. Just the night prior, 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, simply to make conversation, I pondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? A question for another day.
Their Take of the Trio
When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. First, they moved back a bit. Next, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds and this expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I get that, yet I'm personally involved – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, but I know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. Those at home, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Headphones off!” the studio director would holler to everyone to avoid auditory overload, damaging their headset equipment.
Managing Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, don’t start me. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly until they fail. It's hard to find something more pathetic as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. I mean, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn’t always a good thing. When I started college, without my mother's home remedies, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I have the perfect solution, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and adamant that I consume the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I hate colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. 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 clearly took it all very seriously. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, specific measures were necessary during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Intense. I like it. And, get this, she required a repeat application later with additional bursts of the product.
The Results
I followed suit. And I can report I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the numerous products I purchased, lost, bought again, rediscovered, and so on. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, a small cost for the benefit. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
