Around this period a year ago, I found myself participating in a broadcast alongside three vocalists. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, but now, just for something to say, I pondered 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, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
Their Take of the Singers
Upon referencing the party, the group of artists in the TV green room took two actions. First, they edged away from me. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds that understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. I get 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. 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, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises that signal an oncoming cold, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Cans off!” the producer would yell to his team to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.
Managing Stuffy Noses
Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. 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, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, other than causing digestive turmoil and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Health Routine
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I listened intently together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months based on her explanation plus, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she advised several sprays of a preventive product into both nostrils – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she required a repeat application after the party with another couple of squirts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I can report I remained cold-free. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, misplaced, reacquired, located, etc. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. Still, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with her prevention arsenal. I'm prepared to combat.
