Around this period last year, I found myself filming a television show with three singers. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The previous evening, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, however at that moment, just for something to say, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. On a side note, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? Something to explore later.
Their Take of the Singers
Upon referencing the party, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio took two actions. First, they edged away from me. Second, they launched into an animated conversation about preventing colds and this understandable due to their profession was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, the unfortunate crew in the control room became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to the staff to avoid auditory overload, damaging their headset equipment.
Handling Stuffy Noses
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mom advocates … they provide temporary relief until they fail. And there’s nothing as pitiable as a Midlands dialect spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, 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 have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She monitored my consumption. Bless her. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and making my breath smell terrible.
The Vocalist’s Prevention Strategy
Therefore, I hate colds and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that onion-based or otherwise, don’t work. I paid close attention then alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter based on her explanation in addition, there were special precautions required when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she advised several sprays of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Extreme. It appealed to me. And, get this, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the same stuff.
My Experience
I followed suit. And I must admit I remained cold-free. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, and so on. And that dispiriting moment when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer kept in your jeans and it's leaking all over. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I’m ready for battle.
