At this point last year, I was participating in a broadcast in the company of three performers. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, and an acclaimed classical singer. The coldest season was upon us. The previous evening, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, but now, simply to make conversation, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold as numerous attendees were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. On a side note, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Response from the Three Performers
Upon referencing the party, this trio of troubadours in the waiting area took two actions. First, they moved back a bit. Second, they launched into an animated conversation regarding ways to stay cold-free and this expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. I understand that, yet I'm personally involved – I must avoid colds at all costs as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, the unfortunate crew in the control room learned to recognize the signals. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to everyone to avoid auditory overload, damaging their headset equipment.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, don’t start me. Aerosols, liquids, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mum prescribes … they provide temporary relief before giving up. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation felt sorry for me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Goodness gracious. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and making my breath smell terrible.
The Vocalist’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which traditional or modern, don’t work. I listened intently alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months from what I gathered and, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she advised several sprays of Vicks First Defence into both nostrils – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. I appreciated it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the solution.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, bought again, found, etc. And the disappointing instant finding you've squashed the gel bottle kept in your jeans and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.
