He used to be a beautiful boy, immaculate peroxide hair like Billy Idol, but years of alcohol had taken its toll. His skin was now yellow, hair balding and a beer pot developing.
James took his usual seat at the local pub on a wet Friday night.
“Do you fancy joining us, my darling?” he asked a young lady.
“No, thanks, though you’re not bad looking … for someone your age.”
He was Lancelot at the Round Table but the knights were ever diminishing. Peering in the pub mirror he saw the awful truth. His allure had disappeared.