38 local businesses. 76 websites.

An owner-operated valeting service with 50+ five-star reviews and no website. We built a moody, gold-on-black flagship design and a bright editorial alternative — plus a new logo.

A five-star family-run cleaning firm with no website. We built a deep-petrol design with a mint gleam, and a sunny paper-and-navy alternative — plus a sparkling-window logo.

A 30-year Halifax institution with a 5-star hygiene rating and no website. We built a chip-shop-at-night menu board in charcoal and flame, and a playful retro paper-menu alternative.

A town-centre deli with a 5-star hygiene rating and no website. We built a dark editorial design in deep green and butter, and a warm paper-and-teal alternative — plus a new logo.

A husband-and-wife decorating team rated 5.0 with no website. We built a bold charcoal-and-lime design with a paint-swatch spine, and a softer heritage-colour alternative.

A Boothtown caff with a free brew on every breakfast sandwich and no website at all. One design in warm amber on near-black, one in cream and green with a rounded, friendlier feel.

A one-dog-at-a-time grooming salon reachable only through Facebook. A cool teal-on-charcoal design, and a softer plum and peach one built around a single portrait.

A seven-chair barber shop rated 5.0 on Booksy, reachable only through a booking app. A brass-on-black design with the price list front and centre, and a lighter navy and copper alternative.

A four-day-a-week family butcher in Shelf with nothing online but a Facebook page. One design in claret and wheat on near-black, one in cream and claret with a classical serif.

An independent town-centre salon whose name is shared with an unrelated chain down south, so the site had to make plain which Haringtons this is. Rose and gold on near-black, or plum and blush on warm paper.

A made-to-order sandwich bar with nothing online but a Facebook page. A bold lime-on-charcoal design built around phoning your order ahead, and a warmer olive and mustard one.

A fencing contractor reachable only by phone and Facebook. Moss and timber on near-black, or forest green on warm paper — both built around the free written quote and the villages he covers.

A cleaning firm whose full service list was buried in a directory. Nine services brought out into the open, in cyan on midnight or teal and sunshine on pale blue.

Somebody ringing an electrician is often standing in the dark, so design 01 is a single screen with no scrolling — a fixed rail with the phone number and tabbed panels for each kind of job. Design 02 is a small tool: pick what's wrong, where and how urgent, and it writes your enquiry for you.

Design 01 is the whole job on one vertical spine, each stage lighting up as you reach it, because what frightens people is not knowing what will happen to the garden. Design 02 filters the work by symptom rather than jargon — nobody rings up asking for a crown reduction.

Nobody picks a tattoo studio off a bullet list, so design 01 is a portfolio wall you move along sideways by drag, swipe or arrow key, one plate at a time. Design 02 answers in prose the questions people are too embarrassed to ask at a counter — does it hurt, what can be covered, how do I look after it.

Everybody who looks up a dry cleaner is asking one question: will they take this? Design 01 is a filterable list of thirty-six things they do take, with a search box over it, answering that in about four seconds. Design 02 pins the address, the phone number and whether the shop is open right now to a half of the screen that never moves.

What this pub has that no other in Halifax has is where it stands — at the bottom of a cobbled street, on the bank of the Hebble Brook. Design 01 walks you down to it through full-screen panels that snap into place. Design 02 puts you in front of the building with a layered, parallaxed frontage and then gets briskly on with ale, food and rooms.

A chip shop already has a design language and it is the board above the counter, so design 01 reproduces it: enormous flat letters, hard rules, one column, and the whole menu read top to bottom. Design 02 is the opposite instinct — everything on one screen for somebody deciding at half past five whether it is worth the walk.

The hard part of booking nails is describing what you want, so design 01 is a small tool that builds the description for you — shape, length, finish, look, colour — and hands it to the enquiry form. Design 02 answers the other thing that stops first-timers: a spine down the page with the whole appointment hung off it, in order.

A tiler has very few facts and they are all about surfaces, so design 01 gives each material a screenful at the size you would actually stand in front of it — ceramic, porcelain, natural stone, mosaic — snapping into place as you go. Design 02 answers the only question a tiler is ever asked first: do you do X? A filterable deck of every kind of job he takes, with a search box over it.

Nobody ringing a plasterer is worried about plaster. They are worried about dust, noise and how long the room is out of action — so design 01 walks the whole job down a spine in the order it happens, and says where the mess comes from. Design 02 pins the phone number, the area and today’s hours to a half of the screen that never moves.

Bespoke joinery is judged by looking at it, so design 01 is a wall of full-height plates you move along sideways by drag, wheel or arrow key — stairs, kitchens, wardrobes, floors, timber frame. Design 02 is the written case: fifteen years, the NVQs and the apprenticeships, and what first fix and second fix actually mean for somebody who has never heard the terms.

Seasonality is the one argument a supermarket cannot make, so design 01 is a month-by-month guide to the British growing year — pick a month, see what is at its best — labelled plainly as a guide to the seasons rather than a stock list. Design 02 is the shopfront itself, layered and parallaxed, because fifty years of a greengrocer on Commercial Street is a thing people recognise.

The menu is not published anywhere, and rather than invent one both designs say so. Design 01 puts the four things somebody actually wants on one screen — is it open, what is it known for, where is it, what did the inspector say — behind a segmented control. Design 02 sets the handful of dishes people order by name very large, because a thin menu set big reads as confidence.

The hard part of ordering a cake is describing it, so design 01 is a small tool that assembles the description for you — occasion, tiers, flavour, finish, dietary — and hands the sentence to the enquiry form, with no prices anywhere because none are published. Design 02 answers the other worry: a spine down the page showing exactly how an order works, end to end.

Most garages service your car then send you elsewhere with the bike. This one does both, so design 01 filters twenty-five kinds of work by what you drive rather than by service type — the question this garage uniquely answers. Design 02 puts the four things somebody in a cold car park needs on one screen, and says plainly that no opening hours are published, so ring.

A British supplier of electric rising security bollards, selling only through a single eBay listing. Design 01 is a dark product showroom built around a live price calculator that uses the real multi-buy pricing, so a buyer can cost one bollard or a whole site in a few taps. Design 02 is a light technical spec sheet with a tabbed console for anyone who just wants the numbers.

Pest control sells on calm competence, not alarm, so design 01 gives one problem a screenful at a time — rats, wasps, fleas, farms — with no hazard colours and no countdowns. Design 02 pins the number and the coverage to a half of the screen that never moves, because a pest call is urgent even when the tone should not be.

The customer with a wedding dress and six weeks left is not asking what services exist — she is asking what happens and when she gets it back. Design 01 hangs the whole job off a spine, starting with bringing the shoes you will actually wear. Design 02 is the card in the shop window, set enormous: hems, zips, buttons, brides.

A sweet shop’s window is the business, so design 01 layers the frontage and the jars into a parallaxed shopfront and then gets briskly on with what is in them. Design 02 is the jars as a filterable list, because "have you got liquorice wood?" is a question people genuinely ring up and ask — with one card that admits the wall holds more than the list.

Choosing a frame from a list of words is guesswork, so design 01 is a previewer: change the profile, the mount, its width and the glazing, and watch a picture sit inside it. Design 02 walks the wall sideways, one plate per idea. Both give the four o’clock finish and the all-day Wednesday closure real prominence, because that is what catches people out.

Half the people who walk in are dropping a parcel off, so both designs lead with that rather than burying it under the gifts. Design 01 treats the shopfront as the shopfront — a layered window you scroll into, then a tight body underneath. Design 02 sets the whole shop as four words at poster size, because cards, gifts, balloons and parcels is genuinely the entire offer and dressing it up would only make it smaller.

Nobody shops for a pet shop by service, they shop by the animal in the house, so design 01 filters the whole stock list that way and starts with the two things the big shops nearby will not sell you: tanks of live fish, and frozen mice out of the freezer. Design 02 gives each animal a screenful of its own. Where a card names a shelf rather than a product it says so, because guessing at the detail would get somebody turned away at the counter.

Leaving a dog with a stranger is an act of trust, and the question underneath it is always “what actually happens to him while I’m at work?” Design 01 answers it as a day on a spine, hour by hour. Design 02 pins the things that ought to settle it — the Calderdale licence number, its expiry, the council’s five-star rating and the qualifications — to one half of the screen so they never scroll away while you read the rest.

A clinic is atmosphere, and a grid of cards turns atmosphere into a menu, so design 01 moves sideways a plate at a time. Design 02 goes the other way entirely: an aesthetics trade written almost entirely in exclamation marks, answered with plain English set like a magazine. No before-and-afters, no promises, and only the one price the clinic actually publishes.

People ring a plumber describing a symptom, not a service, so design 01 is a triage: say what it’s doing, get told what to do this minute, and get the sentence worth saying on the phone. Design 02 puts the four things a cold, wet customer needs on a single screen. Nothing is claimed that isn’t published — no accreditation appears anywhere, because none could be verified.

Nobody rings a handyman about one thing, so every card in design 01 carries a checkbox: tick everything on the list you keep meaning to sort, and the lot drops into the enquiry in one go instead of you remembering the third job halfway through the call. Design 02 is that same list set at poster size, on the theory that seeing it written large is what finally makes somebody pick up the phone.