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This time the previous year, I ended up filming a television show alongside three vocalists. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. The festivities were fun, yet now, to break the silence, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were contributing to a chorus of sniffles and coughs. By the way, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? A topic for future discussion.

The Response of the Trio

Upon referencing the party, the group of artists in the TV green room responded in two ways. First, they moved back a bit. Second, they launched into an animated conversation on how to avoid catching colds and this naturally enough given their line of work was a major concern for them. That makes sense, 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, but I know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My family, familiar with the early throat signs that signal an oncoming cold, often shoo me away or leave themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Cans off!” the director would shout 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. Nasal sprays, decongestants, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. And there’s nothing as pitiable as the sound of a Birmingham accent spoken without the benefit of air passing through the nostrils. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. No improvement resulted, sadly, other than causing digestive turmoil and making my breath smell terrible.

The Singer’s Health Routine

So no, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that whether folk remedies or not, fail to help. I focused carefully together with the other artists as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months from what I gathered in addition, specific measures were necessary when it came to parties and what not. Prior to socializing, she suggested a few applications of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Drastic. I like it. And, listen to this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the same stuff.

My Experience

I was in. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were drawbacks: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, rediscovered, etc. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with her prevention arsenal. I'm set for the fight.