Artus is the name, Camelot the place.
You imagine a fancy castle populated by a near-almighty and noble king, beautiful Ladies and heroic and brave knights?

Forget it.

Camelot is and always was an average, small village, its inhabitants average people who have it up to here with that fairytale knight-and-heroes stuff.

Just because some drunk minstrel liked the sound of our place and wound his nonsense-tales around it, we wade knee-deep in tourists.
Even today, centuries after that romantic rubbish was sung for the first time.

Not surprising we developed a grumpy view towards strangers.

And now imagine the trouble I have on top of all that, just because I am this village's mayor and traditionally all firstborn males in my family go by the name of "Artus".

On the other hand...
No, don't.
Don't even try.
You will fail.
Miserably.
And, eventually, become one of Camelot's Curmudgeons, too.