The Secret Life of Clouds

According to absolutely no science at all.

I trained in Africa many years ago and was taught that clouds could tell you almost everything you needed to know about the weather. There were people around me who could look at the sky for ten seconds and work out the wind direction, humidity, pressure changes, and whether it was worth hanging out your laundry. They spoke in Latin half the time and pointed at tiny curls of cloud as if they were ancient omens.

I wanted to be that person. Still do, if I’m honest. But these days, when I look up, I don’t always see weather patterns. I see personalities.

You spend long enough lying on your back getting a crick in your neck and your brain starts assigning character traits. Some clouds are obvious show-offs. Others hang about like moody teenagers. Some look like they’ve turned up without meaning to and are just trying to blend in.

So here it is. My unofficial, definitely inaccurate cloud field guide…

Cumulus: The golden retrievers of the sky

Big, bright, and always pleased to see you. These are the friendly fluffballs you spot on warm afternoons. They float about doing not much at all except looking lovely. Just innocent shapes drifting about. Often mistaken for camels, castles or bears in top hats.

Typical mood: Cheerful
Favourite activity: Sunbathing on warm afternoons, doing absolutely nothing of value but looking great. The kind of cloud that would 100% wag its tail if it had one.
Threat level: Harmless

Stratus: The duvet cloud

Stratus is that flat, grey ceiling that rolls in when the sky just can’t be bothered. It doesn’t rain. Doesn’t move. It just sort of sits there. Like someone who’s given up and just pulled the duvet over everything.

You look up, feel vaguely irritated, and then forget it’s even there. Exactly like trying to read the terms and conditions on a mobile phone contract.

Typical mood: Grumpy
Favourite activity: Sucking the light out of your afternoon
Threat level: Medium if you rely on solar panels for your happiness

Cirrus: The Elven Cloud That Writes Poetry

Cirrus clouds are those fine, wispy streaks right up near the top of the sky. They float around looking elegant and detached, judging all the other clouds for being “too mainstream”. If they could talk, it would be in haiku.

These are the clouds that probably journal. The ones that would absolutely describe themselves as ‘ethereal’ and think the rest of us are terribly common.

Typical mood: Aloof
Favourite activity: Hovering where planes fly and silently judging.
Threat level: None. But they’ll still make you feel inferior.

Cumulonimbus: The dramatic cousin

These are the big ones. The ones that roll in like they’re headlining Glastonbury and want you to know it. Lightning, thunder, possibly a full Greek tragedy.

You hear a rumble in the distance, look up, and there it is, towering into the heavens like a giant. These clouds bring thunder, lightning, downpours and, occasionally, mild panic.

Typical mood: Unstable
Favourite phrase: “You want a storm? I’ll give you a storm.”
Threat level: High. Always keep wellies in the boot of the car.

Altocumulus: The One Trying Really Hard to Be Noticed

Middle-layer cloud that forms in clumps and never quite gets the attention it craves. Not dramatic enough for thunder, not fluffy enough for admiration. If this cloud had a podcast, nobody would listen, and it would still do a 7-part series on existential dread.

Typical mood: Hesitant
Favourite activity: Hovering awkwardly
Threat level: Emotional, mostly

A few honorary mentions:

• Lenticular clouds: Look like flying saucers.
• Nimbostratus: Like Stratus, but soaking wet and fed up about it.
• Mammatus: Looks like the sky is growing udders. Makes everyone vaguely uncomfortable.

In summary

Yes, clouds tell us about pressure systems and cold fronts and the likelihood of soggy trousers. But they also have their own small personalities if you’re willing to look. A sort of slow-motion soap opera playing out above your head.

So next time you’re standing around waiting for a bus or avoiding something useful, look up. You might catch a glimpse of a puffed-up thundercloud having a tantrum or a snooty little Cirrus swanning past without a care. Or you might just see a rabbit eating a sandwich. Either way, worth it.