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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 big pop star, and a famous mezzo-soprano. It was deep midwinter. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, yet now, just for something to say, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold as numerous attendees 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, while others are quieter? A question for another day.

The Reaction by the Trio

Upon referencing the party, these three musicians 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 which expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. That makes sense, but I have skin in this game too – preventing colds is crucial for me since my colds are more severe than others'. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, but I know it to be true. My illnesses drag on. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My family, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, sometimes banish me or leave themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Headphones off!” the producer would yell to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.

Handling Stuffy Noses

As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Aerosols, liquids, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mum prescribes … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. Nothing is quite as sad as the sound of a Birmingham accent uttered with blocked nasal passages. I mean, it's somewhat nasal on a good day. Fortunately, this often brings compassion, which isn't ideal. In my first year away at university, without my mother's home remedies, the janitor in our dorm showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Bless her. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.

The Singer’s Prevention Strategy

Thus, I despise catching colds and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I focused carefully together with the other artists while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she was highly committed. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months based on her explanation in addition, there were special precautions required when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of a preventive product up each nostril – whether you felt a cold coming or not. Intense. I appreciated it. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the solution.

The Results

I adopted the method. And I have to say I didn't sniffle all winter. There were drawbacks: the numerous products I purchased, mislaid, bought again, rediscovered, and so on. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle stored in your pocket and it's oozing out. Still, a small cost for the benefit. And now winter’s upon us again, I'm stocked up with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.