🔗 Share this article

At this point a year ago, I found myself filming a television show with three singers. Present were 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’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area somewhere in Surrey. It was an enjoyable evening, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I wondered ways to dodge the common cold with many partygoers were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, and others don’t? A question for another day.

The Response by the Singers

When I brought up my evening, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio took two actions. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they launched into an animated conversation about preventing colds that naturally enough given their line of work was a major concern for them. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – I must avoid colds at all costs since my colds are more severe than others'. I lack official documentation, yet I'm certain it's factual. My illnesses drag on. I experience worse nasal blockage, 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 clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the studio director would holler to everyone to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.

Dealing With Stuffy Noses

When it comes to congestion, I could go on and on. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mom advocates … they provide temporary relief until they fail. Nothing is quite as sad as the sound of a Birmingham accent delivered with no nasal airflow. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn’t always a good thing. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was wonderfully sweet, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the uncooked, peeled onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Goodness gracious. Didn’t achieve anything, unfortunately, except for upsetting my stomach and creating bad breath.

The Singer’s Prevention Strategy

So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I paid close attention then together with the other artists as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour 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 recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product through the nasal passages – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Intense. I like it. And, listen to this, she mandated a second dose post-event with more spray of the solution.

What Happened Next

I adopted the method. And I can report I snuffled not once all last winter. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, bought again, located, and so on. And that dispiriting moment when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's leaking all over. However, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm stocked up with the singer's suggested supplies. I'm prepared to combat.