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At this point the previous year, I found myself on a TV programme with three singers. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, and an acclaimed classical singer. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, squeezed into a pub's event space in a Surrey location. The festivities were fun, yet now, simply to make conversation, I wondered how one could prevent getting a cold when half the people at the party were part of an orchestra of winter ailments. Incidentally, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, and others don’t? Something to explore later.

The Response by the Three Performers

When I brought up my evening, this trio of troubadours in the TV green room did two things. First, they shrunk away from me slightly. Secondly, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds and this understandable due to their profession was something of an obsession for them. I get that, but I'm also deeply invested – I need to dodge colds no matter what because the colds I get are worse than anyone else’s. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My symptoms persist. My nose is more blocked, I have a more irritated throat, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises that signal an oncoming cold, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. When I worked as a sports broadcaster, my teammates behind the scenes became familiar with the indicators. “Earpieces out!” 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. Sprays, drops, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they all work for a while before giving up. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect delivered with no nasal airflow. That is, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm took pity on me. “I know exactly what you need, you poor thing. I’ll be back in a minute.” She was extremely kind, very Irish, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She observed me eating it. Goodness gracious. It didn't help at all, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.

The Mezzo-Soprano’s Health Routine

So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures which onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I focused carefully along with the rapper and the pop star while she explained her health practices. Due to upcoming holiday performances, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour throughout the winter as far as I could deduce plus, there were special precautions required during festivities. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of Vicks First Defence up each nostril – regardless of symptoms. Intense. It appealed to me. Moreover, she mandated a second dose later with additional bursts of the solution.

What Happened Next

I was in. And I can report I remained cold-free. It wasn't perfect: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, misplaced, reacquired, located, and so on. And that dispiriting moment when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. Still, an acceptable trade-off. As the cold season approaches once more, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I’m ready for battle.