Around this period last year, I was participating in a broadcast alongside three vocalists. Present were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. 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, just for something to say, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, while others are quieter? A question for another day.
The Response of the Singers
When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they launched into an animated conversation about preventing colds which expected because of their careers was a major concern for them. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat feels rougher, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my teammates behind the scenes learned to recognize the signals. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to everyone before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.
Dealing With Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mum prescribes … they help briefly before giving up. It's hard to find something more pathetic as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. When I started college, without my mother's home remedies, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Bless her. No improvement resulted, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and creating bad breath.
The Vocalist’s Prevention Strategy
Thus, I hate colds and am convinced prevention beats cure which whether folk remedies or not, fail to help. I listened intently along with the rapper and the pop star when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. 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 all winter long based on her explanation in addition, there were special precautions required during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she advised several sprays of Vicks First Defence through the nasal passages – regardless of symptoms. Intense. I appreciated it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the same stuff.
The Results
I was in. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, reacquired, located, etc. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. Nevertheless, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm fully prepared with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm set for the fight.
