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At this point the previous year, I ended up filming a television show alongside three vocalists. There was a Ghanaian-origin rapper, a major pop celebrity, 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 a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, but now, simply to make conversation, 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. By the way, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, and others don’t? Something to explore later.

The Reaction of the Trio

At mention of my night out, these three musicians in the TV green room did two things. To begin with, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they started a passionate debate on how to avoid catching colds that expected because of their careers was almost an obsession. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – I must avoid colds at all costs because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. I don’t have a medical certificate to confirm this, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nose is more blocked, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises indicating trouble ahead, 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. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to his team to avoid auditory overload, overloading their audio gear.

Dealing With Stuffy Noses

As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Sprays, drops, even the electric shock of fumes of boiling plum brandy my mother recommends … they help briefly before giving up. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was very lovely, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She observed me eating it. Kind soul. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, apart from sending my guts into raptures and leaving my breath foul.

The Singer’s Prevention Strategy

So no, I loathe winter illnesses and firmly believe avoiding is superior to treating that traditional or modern, fail to help. I listened intently alongside my colleagues 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 use hand gel hourly during the cold months based on her explanation and, extra steps were needed during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray into both nostrils – even if healthy. Drastic. I appreciated it. And, get this, she required a repeat application post-event with more spray of the same stuff.

The Results

I adopted the method. And I can report I remained cold-free. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, mislaid, repurchased, rediscovered, and more. And that dispiriting moment finding you've squashed the gel bottle you left in your back pocket and it’s now splurging everywhere. Nevertheless, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm prepared to combat.