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At this point a year ago, I was on a TV programme with three singers. There was a rapper of Ghanaian heritage, a major pop celebrity, plus a renowned mezzo-soprano. We were in the heart of winter. The night before, I attended a longtime friend's 60th birthday, crammed into the function room of a pub in the Surrey region. It had been a good night, 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, why do certain individuals blow their noses so loudly, while others are quieter? Something to explore later.

The Reaction of the Singers

At mention of my night out, the group of artists backstage at the TV studio responded in two ways. First, they moved back a bit. Next, they engaged in a feverishly enthusiastic discussion about preventing colds and this naturally enough given their line of work was almost an obsession. I understand that, but I have skin in this game too – I must avoid colds at all costs as my symptoms are harsher than most. There's no doctor's note to prove it, but I know it to be true. My colds last longer. My nose is more blocked, my throat feels rougher, my coughs are harsher, more persistent and seem infinite. My family, familiar with the early throat signs indicating trouble ahead, either kick me out of the room or clear the room themselves. Back when I presented football on ITV, my poor colleagues in the studio gallery grew attuned to the warning signs. “Earpieces out!” the producer would yell to his team before I deafened them all, blowing the wiring in their headphones.

Handling Stuffy Noses

Regarding my nasal issues, don't get me started. Aerosols, liquids, even the sharp aroma of warm spirits my mother recommends … they all work for a while until they fail. Nothing is quite as sad than a Brummie tone delivered with no nasal airflow. I mean, it can sound nasal even normally. On the plus side, it draws pity, though that's not necessarily beneficial. In my first year away at university, away from my mum and her medicinal brandy, the janitor in our dorm felt sorry for me. “I’ve got just the thing for that, you poor thing. I'll return shortly.” She was extremely kind, with a strong Irish accent, and very insistent that I ate the fresh, skinless onion she presented to me. She stood and watched me do so. Bless her. No improvement resulted, I’m afraid, except for upsetting my stomach and leaving my breath foul.

The Mezzo-Soprano’s Cold Avoidance Regime

So no, I hate colds and am quite sure that prevention is better than the cures which traditional or modern, are ineffective. I focused carefully alongside my colleagues as the singer detailed her prevention methods. With forthcoming bookings to sing for her supper over Christmas, she clearly took it all very seriously. She directed us to apply hand sanitiser on the hour, every hour all winter long from what I gathered in addition, specific measures were necessary for social events and gatherings. Ahead of any such engagement, she recommended a couple of blasts of a nasal spray through the nasal passages – even if healthy. Extreme. I like it. And, get this, she required a repeat application after the party with another couple of squirts of the product.

What Happened Next

I was in. And I can report I didn't sniffle all winter. It wasn't perfect: the many containers I acquired, mislaid, bought again, located, and so on. And the disappointing instant you realise you’ve sat on the little vessel of hand gel stored in your pocket and it's leaking all over. However, all a price worth paying. As the cold season approaches once more, I’m re-armed to the teeth with the mezzo-soprano’s recommended ordnance. I'm set for the fight.