At this point a year ago, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a well-known pop singer, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in a Surrey location. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. On a side note, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
The Reaction of the Singers
When I brought up my evening, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio did two things. Firstly, they moved back a bit. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds and this understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – I need to dodge colds no matter what as my symptoms are harsher than most. I lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My illnesses drag on. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or evacuate the area. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery became familiar with the indicators. “Cans off!” the studio director would holler to everyone to avoid auditory overload, damaging their headset equipment.
Managing Blocked Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Aerosols, liquids, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad than a Brummie tone uttered with blocked nasal passages. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. When I started college, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. Be right back.” She was very lovely, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she offered me in bed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. It didn't help at all, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.
The Mezzo-Soprano’s Prevention Strategy
So no, I loathe winter illnesses and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating which onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she was highly committed. She directed us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter as far as I could deduce in addition, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Ahead of any such engagement, she suggested a few applications of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. I like it. And, get this, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the same stuff.
What Happened Next
I adopted the method. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, lost, bought again, located, and so on. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. However, a small cost for the benefit. As the cold season approaches once more, I’m re-armed to the teeth with her prevention arsenal. I'm set for the fight.
