At this point last year, I was filming a television show alongside three vocalists. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. It was deep midwinter. The previous evening, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, yet now, simply to make conversation, I pondered how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? A topic for future discussion.
The Reaction of the Singers
At mention of my night out, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. First, they edged away from me. Second, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds and this expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – I need to dodge colds no matter what 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 symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My family, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or evacuate the area. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Headphones off!” the studio director would holler to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Handling Nasal Congestion
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mum prescribes … 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. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. On the plus side, it draws pity, 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. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was very lovely, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Singer’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which traditional or modern, don’t work. I paid close attention then together with the other artists as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she was highly committed. She instructed us to sanitize hands regularly all winter long based on her explanation in addition, there were special precautions required when it came to parties and what not. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the solution.
What Happened Next
I was in. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, repurchased, located, and more. Plus the frustrating time when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer kept in your jeans and it’s now splurging everywhere. Still, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm fully prepared with her prevention arsenal. I’m ready for battle.
