Around this period last year, I ended up on a TV programme with three singers. There was a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a big pop star, and a famous mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The previous evening, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, but now, simply to make conversation, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? A question for another day.
Their Take from the Singers
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds that naturally enough given their line of work 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 lack official documentation, but I know it to be true. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to the staff before I deafened them all, overloading their audio gear.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaner in our halls of residence took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and demanded I eat the uncooked, peeled onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Cold Avoidance Regime
So no, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that whether folk remedies or not, don’t work. I listened intently together with the other artists 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 commanded us to use hand gel hourly all winter long as far as I could deduce and, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence through the nasal passages – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. I appreciated it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.
What Happened Next
I followed suit. And I can report I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, bought again, found, and so on. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. However, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
