The draft comes back and it looks finished. Real headings, real sentences, photos in the right places, a contact page. That is the problem. A website you didn’t write yourself reads fluently, and fluent is what makes a wrong fact invisible. Your eye slides past “Open until 7pm” because the sentence is well formed, not because the hours are right.
You’re not proofreading. You’re the only person who can confirm what’s on the page. Four passes catch nearly everything, and on a five-page site they take about fifteen minutes.
First, know which version you’re looking at
A good setup gives you a private draft at a temporary address, one you can open, review, and send to a friend without it being the site your customers reach. Your real domain stays untouched until you say so.
So ask two plain questions before you start. Is this address public? And what exactly makes the site live on my domain? Publishing should be a decision you make out loud, not something that happens as a side effect of an edit. If a page is half rewritten at 4pm, nobody should be able to find it at 4:05.
Pass one: check every fact against reality
Read every page slowly and check each specific claim against something outside your own memory. Not “that looks right,” but pull up the actual thing:
- Phone number. Call it from another phone. A transposed digit reads perfectly.
- Hours. Compare them to the sign on your door, holidays included.
- Prices, including any “starting at” figure. A price that was true last season is still wrong today.
- Address and service area. Suite number, street spelling, the towns you actually drive to.
- Service names, in the words you use with customers, and nothing you stopped offering two winters ago.
- Claims about you. Years in business, licenses, certifications, awards, guarantees.
Anything you can’t confirm comes off the page or gets marked “coming soon,” the disclosed placeholder move. A missing price costs you far less than a wrong one. A customer quoted $180 by your website and $240 by you starts the relationship annoyed.
Pass two: read it as a stranger
Now forget what you know about your business and read the site as someone who found you in a search result thirty seconds ago. Start with the homepage and give it five seconds: what does this business do, who is it for, and what were you supposed to do next? If you have to scroll to answer, the top of the page is doing the wrong job.
Then look hard at the photos. Are those people your team? A bright photo of four smiling strangers under “Meet the team” works right up until a customer walks in and recognizes nobody. Same for the work: if the gallery shows a kitchen you didn’t build, it comes out. Generic scenery is honest. Strangers presented as your staff are not.
Last, hunt for anything the site promises on your behalf. “24/7 emergency callouts” when the phone goes to voicemail at 9pm. “Free consultation” you never agreed to offer. “Same-day appointments” when you’re booked three weeks out. A promise on a website is a promise.
Pass three: open it on your phone
Assume the first person to see your site is standing on a sidewalk holding a phone. Load every page on yours, not only the homepage.
Can you read the text without pinching? Are the buttons big enough to hit with a thumb and far enough apart that you don’t miss? Does the phone number start a call when you tap it, instead of sitting there as decoration? Does an image push the page sideways so you have to swipe to finish a sentence? Fix those before you send the link to anyone.
Pass four: use the site like a customer
Reading it isn’t enough. Use it.
- Click every item in the menu and every link in the footer. Links pointing at pages that don’t exist yet are the usual find.
- Submit your own contact form with a real message (“test from Dana, Tuesday morning”), then go look for it. Check spam. If it doesn’t arrive in a few minutes, the form is broken even though it said thank you.
- Tap the map and confirm it lands on your door, not on a similarly named street across town.
- If you take bookings, book yourself an appointment start to finish, then cancel it.
- Click the social icons. They often point at a platform’s homepage rather than at your account.
A contact form that goes nowhere is worse than no form at all. Somebody typed their problem and their number into it, believed they had reached you, and waited.
Then publish on purpose
Launch is not the finish line. It’s the moment your mistakes get an audience, and the first person to notice the wrong phone number shouldn’t be a customer trying to use it. Four passes, one page at a time, fifteen careful minutes. Then say the word.
