Around this period the previous year, I found myself filming a television show alongside three vocalists. Included were a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, and a famous mezzo-soprano. The coldest season was upon us. The night before, I celebrated a close friend's milestone birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, however at that moment, simply to make conversation, I questioned how it was possible to avoid catching a cold when half the people at the party were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. Incidentally, how come some people have nose-blows like trumpets, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.
When I brought up my evening, these three musicians in the waiting area took two actions. First, they edged away from me. Next, they started a passionate debate about preventing colds which understandable due to their profession was a major concern for them. That makes sense, but I'm also deeply invested – preventing colds is crucial for me as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, yet I'm certain it's factual. My symptoms persist. My nasal passages are more congested, my throat feels rougher, I suffer from louder, more relentless coughing spells. My relatives, alert to the initial throat noises which herald the coming storm, either kick me out of the room or leave themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery learned to recognize the signals. “Earpieces out!” the director would shout to the staff prior to me blasting their ears, damaging their headset equipment.
As for my blocked noses, I could go on and on. Nasal sprays, decongestants, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mother recommends … they provide temporary relief before giving up. Nothing is quite as sad as a Midlands dialect uttered with blocked nasal passages. In other words, it can sound nasal even normally. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn’t always a good thing. During my initial university year, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the cleaner in our halls of residence showed me kindness. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you dear. Be right back.” She was extremely kind, distinctly Irish, and demanded I eat the fresh, skinless onion she brought to my sickbed. She monitored my consumption. Kind soul. Didn’t achieve anything, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and creating bad breath.
Thus, I loathe winter illnesses and am convinced prevention beats cure that onion-based or otherwise, fail to help. I paid close attention then along with the rapper and the pop star when the mezzo-soprano walked us through her cold avoidance regime. With seasonal gigs on the schedule, she clearly took it all very seriously. She commanded us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour during the cold months as far as I could deduce in addition, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Prior to socializing, 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, get this, she insisted on following it up post-event with more spray of the product.
I was in. And I must admit I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the numerous products I purchased, lost, reacquired, located, etc. And the disappointing instant when you discover you've crushed the hand sanitizer you left in your back pocket and it's oozing out. Nevertheless, an acceptable trade-off. And now winter’s upon us again, I’m re-armed to the teeth with her prevention arsenal. I'm prepared to combat.
Elara Vance is a luxury travel expert with over a decade of experience exploring exclusive destinations worldwide.
Arthur Perry
Arthur Perry
Arthur Perry