A few years ago, over a cup of tea at his kitchen table, my friend Paul told me he was thinking about shutting down his plumbing business. “I’m just not getting enough work,” he said, with a tired shrug. I remember looking at him, still in his muck-covered overalls, tools scattered beside him like fallen soldiers from the day’s job, and thinking: That’s mad—he’s the best plumber I know.
But Paul had hit a wall. In his words, “People don’t even know I exist.”
He wasn’t charging too much. He wasn’t lazy. He was just invisible online.
It got me thinking. Nowadays, when someone’s boiler goes bust or their tap starts leaking like Niagara Falls, they don’t walk down the high street. They don’t check the notice board in the post office or flick through the Yellow Pages (does anyone even keep that anymore?). They grab their phone, type “plumber near me” into Google, and pick someone from the first few results.
And if you’re not on that list, well, you might as well be a ghost.
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ToggleOnce we got into it, Paul admitted he did have a website. He made it himself. It was, let’s say… functional. Black text on a white background, a blurry photo of a van, and his mobile number in big font at the top. It did exist—but it wasn’t really working for him. He had no bookings from it. No calls. Nothing.
So here’s the thing: even if you’re lucky enough to show up in those local searches, that’s just the beginning. People don’t just click the first result—especially if it looks like it was built during the dial-up era. They click, they glance, and in a few seconds they decide if you’re legit. If your site looks slapped together, they’ll assume the rest of your work is too.
We worked on his site over the next few weeks, and a few important things changed. The results were unexpected—even for me.
The first thing we did was strip it all back to its purpose. Paul didn’t need bells and whistles. He didn’t need fancy animations or musical intros (yes, some people still think that’s a good idea). He needed a simple, clean site that told local people what he did, where he worked, and how to get in touch quickly.
We added photos of him at work—real photos, not stock images with models holding wrenches awkwardly. We added testimonials. Not phoney ones, but actual messages from people he’d helped. We made a contact form that worked on mobile. We made the phone number a tap-to-call button. And most importantly, we made sure Google understood that Paul was a real plumber in Oxfordshire.
Within weeks, the calls started coming. At first, slowly. One here, two there. But then five. Then ten. He was booked out for two weeks straight within three months.
It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t luck. It was clarity.
Paul learned—and so did I—that people aren’t looking for gimmicks. They’re looking for trust.
Think about it. Your website is like your shop window—but on a street where everyone walks with their noses in their phones. It’s what people see before they ever hear your voice or shake your hand. And it’s doing that all the time, 24 hours a day.
Every time someone searches late at night for a roofer or a cake maker or a dog walker, your website is how you answer. If it’s built well, with your potential customers’ questions in mind—What do they do? Are they nearby? Can I trust them?—then it works for you even while you’re asleep.
I know that sounds lofty, but think about it. Think about the last time you looked up a local business. What made you click on one and not another? You were probably scanning for a sign of credibility. A sign they know what they’re doing.
A professional website is that sign. It’s not about shininess—it’s about sharpness.
There’s a temptation—in all of us—to go cheap, especially when cash is tight. When Paul first made his website, it cost him nothing but a few hours and some patience. But in the end, that site cost him more than money—it cost him business.
A well-made site is an investment, yes. But it’s an investment in visibility. In seriousness. In peace of mind. Not just for you, but for the people trying to decide whether you’re worth their time and money.
Imagine you need a locksmith. You’re locked out, it’s raining, and you’re scrolling through your phone. You find two sites. One is outdated, hard to read, with no reviews. The other is clean, fast, shows a smiling local bloke, and lists emergency call-out times.
You don’t need to think twice. You tap. You call. You pay.
That’s how work turns into paid work. That moment of trust—it starts on the screen.
The most thoughtful people I’ve met in business have one thing in common: they’re always looking to reduce friction.
Friction is what stops people from acting. When a website takes too long to load, that’s friction. When the number isn’t easy to find, that’s friction. When the site doesn’t make sense on a phone, that’s friction.
And people avoid friction like water avoids rocks. They flow toward ease.
A smart website removes friction. It makes booking easy. It makes calling effortless. It makes you look credible before people even meet you. And once people trust you, money follows. It really is that simple.
The reason good websites work isn’t because of clever code. It’s because they reflect empathy.
What does your client need to know right now?
How can you show them, in under a minute, that you get them?
If you run a yoga studio, do you show real classes and smiling participants—or just talk about chakras in Comic Sans? If you do gardening, do you show before-and-after shots, or just list your tools?
Empathy is noticing what people need and giving it to them easily. A website built with empathy converts visits into calls, and calls into bookings.
It’s not about you. It’s about them feeling seen.
I’ve seen folks say things like, “I’ll sort the website out later. Right now I’m focused on getting customers.” I wish I could hug those people and tell them: it’s the same thing.
Sorting the website out is getting customers.
It’s the seed that grows bookings. And the longer you wait, the harder the soil gets. Every day you don’t make it easier to be found and chosen, someone else does. Your competition isn’t always better—they’re just more visible.
If you’ve ever wondered why someone with half your skill gets more business, check their website. I bet it tells their story better than yours does.
Paul made back the money he spent on his new website within the first two weeks of it being live. That’s not something I promise anyone—but it’s illustrative.
He didn’t triple his rates. He didn’t move cities. He just became visible, trusted, and available.
Think of it this way: if your average customer is worth £200, and a good site brings five new clients per month, that’s £1,000 in added revenue, every month. Year over year, that adds up. Suddenly, the initial website cost looks tiny.
That’s the return on investment that matters. Not clicks or views—but calls and cash.
In the end, websites aren’t about technology. They’re about connections.
They’re about strangers believing they can trust you. They’re about urgency being met with reassurance. They’re about showing—not telling—that you’re the real deal.
So whether you run a bakery, a barbershop, or fit kitchens for a living, your website is not an add-on. It’s your handshake.
And if you take that handshake seriously, the people who pass by will remember it—and next time, they’ll stop. They’ll enter. They’ll pay.
Just like Paul’s did.
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