The Reign of the Cold & A Mezzo-Soprano’s Defence
The mention of a recent night out prompted a noticeable reaction from a group of fellow guests in a TV green room. A slight retreat, followed by a fervent discussion about cold prevention – a topic, understandably, of significant concern in their profession. But the stakes are high for me too. I suffer colds wiht a severity that, while undocumented by medical professionals, is demonstrably worse than anyone else’s. My colds are longer, more debilitating; a blocked nose, a scratchy throat, and a cough that, according to those who’ve endured it, is both loud and seemingly endless.
My family has learned to recognize the initial throat-clearing signals, swiftly enacting evacuation procedures. Even during my time presenting football on ITV, the studio gallery crew became adept at anticipating the onset. “Cans off!” the director would shout, bracing for the sonic onslaught that threatened to overwhelm the studio’s sound system.
And my blocked nose? A relentless battle. Sprays, drops, even my mother’s unorthodox remedy of inhaling the fumes of boiling plum brandy offer only temporary respite. There’s a particular pathos to hearing a Birmingham accent muffled by complete nasal obstruction – already somewhat nasal at the best of times. This elicits sympathy, which, while well-intentioned, isn’t always welcome. I recall a particularly memorable instance during my first year at university, away from my mother’s medicinal brandy. A kind-hearted irish cleaner, taking pity on my plight, insisted I consume a peeled, raw onion. She patiently observed my attempt, a gesture of kindness that ultimately resulted only in digestive distress and profoundly unpleasant breath.
Therefore, I firmly believe in prevention. I listened intently, alongside a rapper and a pop star, when a mezzo-soprano detailed her rigorous cold avoidance strategy. With crucial Christmas performances on the horizon, she clearly took the matter seriously. Her regime demanded hourly request of hand sanitiser throughout the winter, and specific protocols for social events. Before and after any party, she advocated for “a couple of blasts” of Vicks First Defence (or similar products) up each nostril – preventative and restorative. It was an extreme approach, and I approved.
I adopted the strategy immediately,and remarkably,I didn’t suffer a single sniffle all last winter. There were minor inconveniences: the constant purchasing and misplacing of First Defence, and the unfortunate incident involving a squashed bottle of hand gel in my back pocket. But these were small prices to pay. Now, with winter approaching once more, I am fully equipped with the mezzo-soprano’s arsenal, prepared to defend against the certain onslaught.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist.
