Good job Andrew!!
Jay's suit is actually pretty good, but his torso is mediocre.
The blue on Zane's suit doesn't blend in and fails to look too good.
The only really good sets are the large mech and the temple.
They should stop using the s11 armour and if possible create a new mold.
Pixel's new Minifigure has a face that doesn't capture her character.
Character development may be happening as well by the looks of it!!
So I just found out, and I was wondering if anyone would like to discuss.
I didn't know how to feel at first, but after watching the interview on Brent's YT channel I feel a lot happier now and I'm excited to see his performance! Just gotta try not to think too much about Morro lol
Three years on from the kidney transplant that saved his life, the former Man Utd and England striker talks about challenges of his new life
By James Ducker, Northern Football Correspondent
16 November 2020 08:20 am
Some days are a lot better than others for Andrew Cole but, on the morning we speak, you get the impression he would rather have pulled up the covers and not got out of bed. “Today was the first tough day I’ve had in some time,” he says. “I had the hollow leg feeling today.”
It is common for transplant patients to experience feelings of self-repulsion and, even now, three years since his nephew Alex donated a kidney and saved his life, the former Manchester United and England striker looks in the mirror when he wakes up, sees the scar that runs from underneath his naval all the way down to his pubic bone, and asks himself the same question. “Who are you?”
“I started playing golf again,” he explains. “I’d walk 18 holes because that’d be my exercise for the day. I’d get home, have a shower and before I could even eat, I’d crash out. That was me done. I wouldn’t wake until the next morning.
“I’d get so frustrated. ‘You are playing golf and you’re telling me you’re tired!’ It’s hard accepting that my body is no longer what it was.”
Such frustrations must be heightened in someone who spent years at the top end of the game, terrorising defences. Cole reflects on his career, and the challenges his new life presents, with great candour in his new autobiography, and it is little wonder there are times when he resents the daily dose of 16 pills he needs to help keep his body, and mind, in some semblance of working order. “I look at them, they look back at me, they don’t move and so I have to,” he writes in one emotive passage.
In the five years since he was first diagnosed with renal failure after contracting an airborne virus in Vietnam, where he was doing some promotional work for United as a club ambassador, Cole has encountered plenty of dark days. There have been occasions when he has thought about ending it all but the same voice at the back of his mind who helped push him to become one of the greatest English goalscorers of his generation keeps winning out. “What I do know about myself is I’m not a quitter,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how tough things get, I don’t quit. I’ve watched many programme
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[Article Text]
In 2015, I arrived home exhausted from a trip to Vietnam as a Manchester United club ambassador. I felt ill but put it down to the long-haul flight and took a couple of paracetamol and got into bed. The next day, still tired, I was getting ready to go to dinner with my wife Shirley and a couple of friends in Manchester. I put on a shirt and Shirley took one look at me and said, “That shirt’s too tight. You’ve put on weight in Asia.” I argued back, saying it was fine, but she was right. Just in the day since I got back, it seemed that I was bigger.
When the dishes came at dinner, everyone tucked in. “Mmmmmm, this is lovely,” they were saying, but I was fuming because my food tasted of nothing. “This food is rubbish, pass the salt and pepper, it is so bland.” They were all laughing at me, wondering why I was always so miserable.
The next day, I was sweating and feeling really bad. I called Mike Stone, an ex-Manchester United doctor. I explained my symptoms and he came over. He took a look and I could see he was thinking, “What the hell is going on here?” The weight was so obvious and sudden, and he immediately got me an appointment at the Alexandra Hospital. They ran a few tests, then I went home.
Two days later, I got a call from Mike saying I needed to get myself to the Manchester Royal Infirmary, where a consultant would be waiting. “OK, no problem, Mike. I have a few things to do later, but I’ll pop by.” I drove into the hospital and remember not being in the mood for it all. I needed to be somewhere else soon, and while I didn’t feel well, I thought I was wasting my time.
Mike Picton was the consultant. “How did you get in?” he asked. “I drove,” I replied, thinking this a strange question. He started to ask more questions. I replied to each but I was irritable. “You shouldn’t have driven in,” he said. You what? I’m thinking. Does he know how old I am? I’m a bit ill, not disabled.
He told me he wanted to do a biopsy immediately. Right now? Well, I’m here, so OK, I thought, but I was still irritated. They did the biopsy and then he said, “You won’t be going anywhere today, Andrew.” “Are you mad? I have places to be.”
“Let’s talk about your symptoms,” he says. “How are your taste buds?” I sat up. “Yes, food has no taste.
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