Ciara's Bangin

What was that?!

Squealed the Little Lady in terror as an earth-shaking rumble cracked the air outside the house.

We were standing at the window staring out at the blizzard of wind and snow that was swirling through the UK thanks to Storm Ciara.

It was your mummy farting.

I said reassuringly to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Daddy-Bear! It was not me farting! Apologise!

The Good Lady was mortified in the way of wives the world over at the mere suggestion that her pruney willow breathed out like the rest of us.

Was it you, Mummy? Were you farting?

The Little Lady was giggling like mad at the thought of her mummy parping on the bum trumpet.

It certainly was not. It was thunder. From the storm.

The Little Lady made her mouth into an 'O' of fear.

Thunder, mummy? Are we going to die?

She let out a slight squeak.

No, darling. We are not going to die.

The Good Lady chuckled slightly as if her leg were being mounted by a small dog with a squashed face.

Actually. What is thunder?

Wondered the Little Lady, her voice coloured with awe.

Well, when a bolt of lightning is formed, it heats the air around it to a huge degree almost making it explode outward creating a booming sound that is very very loud.

The Good Lady explained rather splendidly.

She was about to carry on further when I raised a hand authoritatively upward.

Stop... Stop! Lass, do you really want to know what thunder is?

I said in a mighty voice worthy of a man who had once killed two mice with a shovel.

The Little Lady's eyes lit up.

Yes, please, Daddy!

Ignoring the Good Lady's gazumped and snarky face I scooched down and started talking in a Bard's whisper.

Back in the days of old. When we Scots lived up in the High lands, close to the very skies themselves. There was a God named Ciara. She was a mighty God with an even mightier temper. It was said when she got angry with her God husband, Tam, she would rattle the pots in her kitchen and the mighty clanging booming noise of it could be heard from miles away.

I waved a hand expansively at the window as if there were common folk outside, gathering for the scraps from my table.

And do you know what we, the good folk on the hills would say when we heard that mighty roaring clatter in the sky?

The Little Lady's eyes sparkled.

No, Daddy. What did they say?

She gasped excitedly.

I paused and in a fearsomely deep voice, rumbled.

They looked up to the skies and said... that's Ciara bangin.

At that moment as if the fates themselves favoured my tale, another rumble of thunder rolled around outside.

Daddy!! Daddy!! Was that Ciara bangin????

The Little Lady asked excitedly.

I stood up and ruffled her hair before smirking sidewards at the Good Lady.

No lass... That was your mummy farting.