'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through
                                             the house
                                             Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
                                             The little lad Phil tossed and turned in his bed
                                             While his old CG field bike lay rusting and dead. 
                                             
                                             The bikers were nestled all snug in their beds,
                                             While visions of Gixxers danced round in their heads;
                                             And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
                                             Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
                                             
                                             While TOG answered emails, like a guru all-wise;
                                             To each new inquirer, he'd sagely advise:
                                             "Your choice is your own; you should do as you like;
                                             But don't pay too much for a Sh-tty Old Bike."
                                             
                                             At the Lloyd Cooper temple, at midnight less five
                                             All united to praise the C G One Two Five.
                                             They followed tradition, passed on year by year
                                             By making the Sign of the Sacred Valve Gear. 
                                             
                                             Then outside my window I heard such a hoon,
                                             That I sprang from the bed by the light of the moon.
                                             Away to the window I flew like a flash,
                                             Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 
                                             
                                             To do this at midnight! there's just no excuse.
                                             Clearly something out there was marked "Not for road use".
                                             Aroused from my sleep, I was grouchy and stroppy
                                             But my mood was improved by the sound of a stoppie.
                                             
                                             The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
                                             Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
                                             When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
                                             But a sidecar, with power by many reindeer,
                                             
                                             And a little old rider, who started to swear,
                                             And I instantly knew it must be Bastard Bear.
                                             More rapid than 'Busas his reindeer they came,
                                             And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:  
                                             
                                             "Come SORBY! Come HEWITT! Come MOOSEHEAD and GINGE!
                                             Come MELDREW! Come DARSY! let's go on a binge!
                                             Come EATON! Come KRAGGASH! Come SPETE, STU and PORL!
                                             Come wheelie, come wheelie, come wheelie you-all!
                                             
                                             Now DESMOND! Now STANNARD! MARINA and MEL!
                                             BALLISTIC! And REXX! All stand by to propel!
                                             Now LOZZO! LUCRETIA! THE PILOT and CHAMP!
                                             We're setting off soon- so don't fidget and stamp!
                                             
                                             Now, AUVACHE! Now, GOWER! and GRIMLY CURMUDGEON!
                                             No waiting! Start moving! Let's f*****g get budging!
                                             To the best pub in Sarratt! and then on into town!
                                             Now getyerknees! getyerknees! getyerknees down!"
                                             
                                             He sprang to his sidecar, and gave out a whistle,
                                             And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
                                             But I heard him call out, as he flew past the moon: