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Around this period a year ago, I found myself on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Included were a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a big pop star, and an acclaimed classical singer. The coldest season was upon us. Just the night prior, I’d been at an old friend’s 60th birthday, packed into a local bar's party area in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, however at that moment, to break the silence, I pondered 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. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? Something to explore later.

Their Take of the Singers

When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the TV green room took two actions. Firstly, they shrunk away from me slightly. Next, they launched into an animated conversation regarding ways to stay cold-free that expected because of their careers was something of an obsession for them. I get that, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs 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 nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. Those at home, wise to the couple of quick throat-clearances that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. During my time hosting football on TV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to his team prior to me blasting their ears, blowing the wiring in their headphones.

Dealing With Stuffy Noses

As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, 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. That is, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, which isn't ideal. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the cleaning staff at our accommodation took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you dear. Be right back.” She was wonderfully sweet, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the uncooked, peeled onion she offered me in bed. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. Didn’t achieve anything, sadly, except for upsetting my stomach and making my breath smell terrible.

The Vocalist’s Health Routine

So no, I despise catching colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I listened intently alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she approached it with great diligence. She instructed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Before any event, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence into both nostrils – even if healthy. Drastic. I like it. And, listen to this, she insisted on following it up 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, lost, reacquired, located, and more. And that dispiriting moment you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, 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.