Parenting has turned into a bloodsport of logistics. After-school football at 4, gymnastics at 5, ipad wrestling at 6. We stumble around like unpaid Uber drivers, fuelled by coffee and the faint smell of Dettol wipes.

The antidote to all this bedlam isn’t another activity though. It’s a non-activity, a straight-up refusal to do.

Cloud spotting is the original hallucinogen. A sky-sized carnival where thunderheads morph into anvils of the gods and cirrus scribbles look like the aftermath of an angel’s night out. And if you’re lying next to my kids, you’ll definitely spot a diplodocus on a skateboard.

I recently tracked down the archbishop of awe himself, Gavin Pretor-Pinney - founder of the Cloud Appreciation Society, poet of the sky, and the man who literally wrote the book on clouds (see below). We jumped on a fascinating video call to talk about the glorious art of looking up.

Q: Gavin, let’s start at the beginning. Of all the things you could obsess over, why clouds?

I love that clouds are always there. They’re an ever-present part of nature, wherever you are. You don’t need to be in the mountains or on a beach - just look up.

The irony is that because they’re always in our vision, we often ignore them. Clouds are invitations to the imagination. They connect us back to childhood, when spotting shapes was normal and our biggest deadline was bedtime. To share that with kids, you have to step out of “work mode” and into a more playful way of seeing the world.

Q: I get the sense clouds aren’t just fluffy shapes, they’re a time machine. Why are they such a powerful connector for kids and for knackered parents like us?

It’s a great connector because it works both ways. For parents, it sparks nostalgia; it reminds us of the wonder we felt when we were young. For kids, it’s pure imagination.

Cloud spotting legitimises doing nothing. It’s doing something while doing nothing. That’s rare in today’s culture, but hugely valuable.

Q: These days kids can’t sit still for ten seconds without reaching for a screen. How can clouds fight back against the iPad invasion?

That “boredom time” is incredibly important. When I was young, if you were waiting for a bus you just… waited. You got bored. And boredom is valuable: in that idle space, the brain is busy rearranging memories, making connections, just like it does in sleep.

Today, devices swallow every gap. Clouds are the antidote. They whisper instead of scream. They give us a story with no beginning, middle or end - a slow narrative you can dip into. That’s a very different kind of attention, and one we need more of.

Q: Parents are short on time and long on commitments. What’s the simplest way to make cloud spotting part of everyday family life?

The key is: don’t plan it. You can schedule a hike for Saturday 3pm, but you can’t schedule the sky.

Think of cloud spotting as a mindset rather than an activity. Keep tapping yourself on the shoulder: is something happening up there? If it is, be willing to stop, even if you’re mid-bike ride or driving somewhere. Pull over, get out, look up together.

That spontaneity teaches kids something important: the extraordinary lives inside the everyday, if you’re willing to pause and notice.

Q: If clouds were Top Trumps, which ones would you put in the “dad-friendly starter deck”? (Give us the ones kids will actually lose their minds over.)

Absolutely. A few essentials:

Learning just a few names changes your relationship with the sky. Kids often remember them better than adults, a bit like dinosaurs.

Q: You’ve even launched Cloud Appreciation Day. Beyond dads and kids, what do clouds remind us about being human?

Every September 12th, people around the world share photos of their sky. It’s like a global snapshot of wonder.

It’s a reminder that we all inhabit the same sky. It has no boundaries, no borders. Everyone’s contribution, whether it’s a storm in Brazil or a streak of cirrus over Bristol, is part of one shared experience. That sense of collective humanity is as important as the science or the beauty.

Q: Last one. If you could tattoo one piece of advice on the forehead of every parent about looking up, what would it say?

Treat the sky as a constant invitation. Don’t make it the main event, but when something extraordinary appears, stop. Step outside. Talk about it. Then move on.

That simple act of pausing, of choosing to notice, is the real gift you’re passing on to your kids. It teaches them that wonder and drama don’t just live in rare, spectacular moments. They’re hidden in the everyday, waiting to be noticed.