Freddie Mercury was right on the frightening thing.

I was in a bit of a debate with my holiday host about determining how far away was the storm that was resonating ominously and noisily somewhere behind the mountain range to the south.

 I had been brought up in the family doctrine that a counted second equated to a distance of one mile.

 This method was well established and persisted in such things as one mississippi, two mississippi when timing a great many things from playing hide and seek to making a Nesquik milkshake, holding a temporary tattoo on your arm or waiting for the old valve operated Tv to cool down. It was our way of making sense in the world.

I had counted to thirty between the faint but distinctive flash of daytime lightning and the next boom of thunder.

It seemed somehow closer but being in a crucible of a lakeland surrounded by the mountains it was very difficult to guage time and distance.

My host was of the school of thinking that three seconds represented a mile.

Being typical men we agreed to differ although as I scrambled for cover from the terrifying crescendo of electric charge  , the artillery barrage and torrential rain I began to question the very basis of my upbringing in the business of analysing storm weather systems.