At this point last year, I was on a TV programme alongside three vocalists. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It was an enjoyable evening, but now, to break the silence, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees 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 question for another day.
The Response of the Three Performers
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists in the waiting area took two actions. First, they shrunk away from me slightly. Next, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds and this expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – I must avoid colds at all costs as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My symptoms persist. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My family, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or evacuate the area. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Headphones off!” the studio director would holler to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Blocked Noses
When it comes to congestion, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they all work for a while before giving up. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. In other words, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. It didn't help at all, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and creating bad breath.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
Thus, I loathe winter illnesses and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. 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 during the cold months from what I gathered plus, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of a nasal spray up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. I like it. Moreover, she required a repeat application after the party with another couple of squirts of the solution.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, and so on. Plus the frustrating time finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
