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At this point the previous year, I was on a TV programme in the company of three performers. Included were a hip-hop artist with Ghanaian roots, a well-known pop singer, and a famous mezzo-soprano. 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 somewhere in Surrey. It had been a good night, but now, to break the silence, I questioned how one could prevent getting a cold with many partygoers were players in a symphony of coughs, sneezes, snuffles and nose-blows. By the way, what explains the trumpet-like nose blows, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.

The Response of the Three Performers

Upon referencing the party, this trio of troubadours backstage at the TV studio took two actions. First, they shrunk away from me slightly. Second, they launched into an animated conversation regarding ways to stay cold-free that naturally enough given their line of work was a major concern for them. 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 lack official documentation, but I firmly believe it. My colds last longer. I experience worse nasal blockage, my throat is scratchier, my coughing fits are louder, barkier and apparently endless. Those at home, familiar with the early throat signs which herald the coming storm, often shoo me away or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, the unfortunate crew in the control room grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the studio director would holler to his team prior to me blasting their ears, damaging their headset equipment.

Managing Blocked Noses

As for my blocked noses, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, including the intense vapor from heated brandy my mum prescribes … they all work for a while before admitting defeat. It's hard to find something more pathetic than a Brummie tone uttered with blocked nasal passages. That is, it sounds a bit nasally restricted at the best of times. At least this elicits sympathy, which isn’t always a good thing. During my initial university year, separated from family care, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I have the perfect solution, you unfortunate soul. Be right back.” She was very lovely, distinctly Irish, and adamant that I consume the peeled, raw onion she brought to my sickbed. She stood and watched me do so. Kind soul. It didn't help at all, sadly, apart from sending my guts into raptures and creating bad breath.

The Mezzo-Soprano’s Health Routine

Thus, 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 alongside my colleagues while she explained her health practices. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she approached it with great diligence. She commanded us to sanitize hands regularly throughout the winter as far as I could deduce and, extra steps were needed when it came to parties and what not. Ahead of any such engagement, she suggested a few applications of a preventive product up each nostril – even if healthy. Drastic. I appreciated it. Moreover, she insisted on following it up later with additional bursts of the solution.

What Happened Next

I adopted the method. And I must admit I snuffled not once all last winter. There were downsides: the countless bottles of First Defence I bought, lost, bought again, rediscovered, and so on. Plus the frustrating time you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel kept in your jeans and it’s now splurging everywhere. Still, all a price worth paying. With winter returning, I'm fully prepared with her prevention arsenal. I'm prepared to combat.