NTB Damp Proofing
Damp proofing · Wirral
A self-check that tells you which kind of damp you have before you call anyone, fourteen finished walls, and a coverage map drawn to scale.
Our work
The clients come first, because they are what counts. After them are demo sites: invented businesses, real websites. Book a table, fill a basket, book an appointment. Everything works and nothing is ever charged.
Damp proofing · Wirral
A self-check that tells you which kind of damp you have before you call anyone, fourteen finished walls, and a coverage map drawn to scale.
Insurance broker · Portugal
A section per line of cover, a quote form that lands in his inbox, WhatsApp on every screen.
Study centre · Vila Nova de Gaia
A page per service, visits booked through the site, and the local detail written for people searching on a phone.
★★★★★
Daniel designed my damp proofing website about a month ago, it went live about 8 days ago and already getting people asking for quotes and I've secured my first job from it today. I can't recommend him enough to design your website.
★★★★★
Two calls, one week, done. The site is calm and clear, no pop-ups, no nonsense, and people actually book through it. When my email broke the contact form, they fixed it before I noticed.
Invented businesses, one per kind of job. They exist to show you what your site could do before it exists.
Corvo Cicli Frame builder · Porto Telling a story →
Marsh & Son Electrical Electrician · Liverpool What the smallest plan buys →
Harker's Table Restaurant · Whitstable, Kent A menu that is actually current →
Nata do Postigo Pastelaria · Lisbon A timetable nobody updates →
Lattice Developer product · United Kingdom One page, one engine →
Ripple & Fin Aquatics Fish and pond shop · London A homepage you can touch →
Velmora Luxury brand · United Kingdom A waitlist, done quietly →
Veira Tourism · River town A story you scroll →
Plume Creative studio · United Kingdom Eyes that follow the cursor →
Danny 3D artist · United Kingdom A portfolio that moves →
Maren Independent designer · United Kingdom A backdrop you pick →
Food-grade recycled PET pellets, sold to the people who make packaging. A site where the spec sheet is the sales pitch.
A steel frame builder, with a site built entirely around scroll, the way the frame draws itself.
Six rooms taking their own bookings instead of paying fifteen per cent to a platform.
The work is the argument, so the site gets out of the way of the photographs.
The timetable is the homepage and a membership is three taps away.
A twenty-two cover tasting menu that fills sixty covers, and a site that looks like the room.
A stills and motion studio, and the loudest of them: a custom cursor and a scroll-driven reel.
Forty-one local sellers, each with their own storefront and their own payouts.
A whole day told by scrolling, photograph by photograph, from eleven in the morning to the cellar at night.
One page and no photographer: the prices, the streets he covers, and the fusebox before and after.
A poster you scroll. Almost no photography, and a swallow that draws itself.
The menu is the page: dated, marked where it changed this morning, and one dish already struck out because it has gone.
Booking an appointment takes four taps and no phone call during opening hours.
One recipe, and a board of baking times that corrects itself through the day.
Selling bags and subscriptions, with a checkout that does not need an app.
A liquid-metal mass raymarched behind the whole page, re-forming as you scroll and pushed around by the pointer.
A koi pond fills the screen: the water follows the cursor, a click scatters the fish, and each one tells you its price when you hover.
A private gallery that opens on a full-screen video, lists its collection as a typeset index, and keeps a waitlist for the next viewing.
A town told in one scroll: the bridge splits the screen and rises away, the river comes up behind, and the sights to see arrive at the end.
A creative studio in Margate on one page: its work, its story, its experiments, and a footer where the mascot follows your cursor with its eyes.
A 3D artist’s portfolio: his portrait leans toward your cursor, a reel slides past as you scroll, and three projects stack like cards.
A designer’s portfolio: the name fills the screen, the background switches between three videos at a click, and the studio clock ticks in the corner.
The clip is one continuous head turn, paused and re-seeked to track the cursor, never playing on its own.
Thirty minutes on the phone and we design your homepage, with your words and your business, before you pay anything.