'Twas the night before Christmas, and dear Nominet
Was getting things ready - no names coming yet.
The code had been written, 'with greatest of care',
In the hope that the 3-letters would soon all be there.
There was young Damon Iddins, that redoubtable Scot
Dreaming come Sunday he had caught the whole lot,
Rob Golding was holding his hand to his heart
Waiting with patience for the goldrush to start.
Tuplin, Hegazy, Aodu, Ravetta,
Each person had dreams that they all could do better,
Darren and Mark, Michael Toth, and Seb Clark
Living legends of old catching names in the dark.
In the morning would Charlie and Boys dot UK
Be waiting for Gill, just to start the new day?
Would Aaron's last catches be a great tour de force
Or would a Nominet flaw leave him filled with remorse?
Suddenly it starts, thousand names in a hurry -
Tell Colin, tell Robert, tell Ian, tell Murray!
No need because each was alert and awake,
Ready to strike first and good ones to take.
The night before Christmas, bless old Father Fasthost
And all who spurned UK and gave up the ghost
Bless all those dear children and their zombie domains
But above all bless each of us with long-waited gains.
* * * * *
[with apologies to Clement C Moore]