by Joe Shaw
'Twas The Night Before Christmas, And All Through The House,
Not A Creature Was Stirring, 'Cept My PC Mouse.
I Was Surfing The Web, For Setup Advice,
For The Right Lotus Toe-In, I'd Cash In My Wife.
My Line Through The 'Bolica, Was Awfully Poor,
My Top End Pathetic, With Throttle To Floor.
I'd Spent All My Earnings, I'd Made Every Deal,
For A P3 Four Fifty, And A Force Feedback Wheel.
When Out On The Lawn There Arose Such A Clatter,
I Sprang From My Desk To See What Was The Matter.
A Strobe Of White Light, Through The Window Did Flash,
It Looked To My Eye, Like A Giant Clock Smash.
I Threw Open The Sash, And What Should I See,
But A White Bearded Driver, In A Red Ferrari.
He Stomped On The Clutch, And Feathered The Gas,
Then Lifted His Goggles, I Could Tell He Was Fast.
He Pulled Down His Scarf, And Flashed Me A Smile,
And Tossed Me A CD, Labelled "Lo1 File".
"Remember," He Said, "The Ones With The Fame."
And With Eyes To The Sky, He Called Out Their Names.
Now Jimmy, Now Graham, Now Denis, And Jochen,
McLaren, And Pedro, Ginther And Irwin.
"Enter Turns Slowly, And Exit With Speed,
And You'll Get All You Can, From Your Trusty Green Steed."
Then He Shifted To First, And Out Popped The Clutch.
"I'm Off To Zandvoort, And The Grand Prix That's Dutch!"
He Peeled Out In First, With Wheelspin Galore,
Looking For Brabhams, That Still Had A Door.
And I Heard Him Exclaim, With Great Holiday Cheer,
"To All A Good Night, Have a GPL Year!"