The old man stood in the classic catalogue pose. One foot on a rock, one hand on his hip. Ensconed in his whites, his ankle socks were pulled tight against his calves, a long way from the bottom of his shorts. His hat was perched at a cocky angle and the shirt tucked tightly in. He was creased and weathered from a life outdoors and his tanned skin had never seen the touch of suncream. His eyes were small and amongst his wrinkled face his features were not unlike a tortoise. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. With a sigh he began to speak, his arms spreading to indicate the sights around him ¨´Well, welcome to the Galapagos. Thirty years ago, this place was paradise. But now.....´´ He left the sentence unfinished. The deflated
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