'Twas the night before Christmas and out in the shed,
Sat a tired old Lotus, its battery dead,
Its water pump leaking, Its fiberglass cracked,
Its brake lines dripping, it's doughnuts fracked.
The hoses had bulges, the tires had flat spots,
The chassis was cankered with blistering rust-rots.
Every one of these problems, were problems I knew,
But I feared more gestating, that soon would be new.
So I pulled on my coat with a weight on my heart
Ventured forth yet again, to get it to start.
Shivering, morose, I thought 'What's the use?'
This was my hobby but it felt like abuse.
With key turned to ignition, and set at full choke,
Came a Snap! Came a Sizzle! Then a column of smoke.
Then a loud fusillade of electrical flashes,
Like my hopes, the old wires were turning to ashes.
Despondent, deranged, I dropped the keys on the floor,
“Enough is enough. I can’t take anymore!
I'll dismember the Lotus, my crime hide away,
Encased in cement, in some bottomless bay!"
Then out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I went to the window to see what was the matter.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an elegant sports car, without the reindeer.
With a driver who drove it so quick and untamed,
And who shouted out cars it appeared he had named:
"Now ELITE! now ELAN! now EUROPA, ELISE!
On ECLAT! and EVORA! on ELEVEN, ESPRIT!
Oh! how it trips off my tongue with such ease,
How I love my, how I love my, my lovely letter E! "
Then up to the rooftop the old Lotus flew,
And parked right by the chimney—I swear it is true.
I could hear it so clearly: a stutter, a cough,
The sound of a Climax being shut off.
As I sat there perplexed at how crazy it sounded,
Down the chimney a self-assured Englishman bounded.
“Good evening. Name's Colin.” He held out his hand.
"I think it much better I take over command."
His face said it so clearly, the car had expired,
But his posture proclaimed he was getting inspired.
"We can save this old Lotus, it's really not hard,
All you need is some faith or, a Gold credit card."
He was slim and quite dapper, no jolly old elf,
Still I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
But his practiced smile and piercing stare,
Soon gave me to know I had better beware;
"Forget factory manuals, just hand me your tools,
When I work on my cars I make up my own rules!"
Then he paused and he pondered, eyes gleaming so fine,
"Why repair any car when you can Re-Design!"
He zeroed in on each problem, with an uncanny aim,
And in less than an hour, stripped the car to its frame.
Then he sketched and he worked so fast the walls trembled,
And in half an hour, it was all reassembled.
No words were needed, for the car had served notice,
This was The Never-built, Ultimate Lotus...
Part Seven, Elite, Elan-Europa, Esprits,
Even unmistakably, a whiff of Elise.
And then fused into one, like a chassis for these,
All Loti from 11s to the 33s.
It was sleek and elegant, and had every trait,
Stripped down to the essentials, that made Lotus great.
It made me grin giddily, and yet hesitate—
Without explanation, it had shed half its weight.
He spoke not a word, just tossed me the keys,
I switched on the ignition, feeling weak in the knees.
It surged like a thoroughbred, and ran like a top!
...unfortunately it couldn't be stopped.
'Twas the night before Christmas when just before dawn,
We dragged back the old Lotus, 'cross the snow-covered lawn.
Still steaming, the car-cass, we pushed back in its shed,
220, the shattered, speedometer read.
It had flamed down the highway, like a thing possessed,
Lotus-leapt through corners, with magic finesse.
I don't think I have ever, felt so much alive,
Prob'ly because I never thought we'd survive.
Then patting the old Lotus, and with a proud sigh,
Colin turned to me smiling, and adjusting his tie,
Said, "I leave it with you then," and taking my hands,
Bequeathed me his dirty stack of scribbled down plans.
"Well I must now be going, my work here is done,
"Designing a sports car is always great fun."
"While," he said with a yawn, and a nonchalant shrug,
It's tedious and boring to work out the bugs."
Then... from the rooftop, there came such a clatter,
We both ran to the window, to see what was the matter.
"What's a car doing up here?" thundered St. Nick himself—
Then hurtled down the chimney, one pissed off Old Elf.
"YOU AGAIN!" screamed Nickolas, his face red as his suit
An expression not saintly, but for giving 'the boot'.
With a bang like a backfire and a blinding white light,
Colin made a quick exit and vanished from sight.
Then the roar of the Climax could be heard on the roof,
And Curses, and Neighing, and much Kicking of Hoofs.
But Colin exclaimed, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND ADD LIGHTNESS—
[shamelessly stolen from the Lotus Club Canada Christmas 2016 Newsletter]