So… did ye, aye?
In Scotland, when someone tells you a story that's stretched a wee bit far — "I could have gone professional, ye know" — you reply, dead flat: "Did ye, aye?" It's not aggressive. It's affectionate skepticism. It means: go on then, prove it.
We'd been working in tech long enough to notice something: the AI industry is one long tall tale. Robots taking over by Tuesday. Ten times the output for half the staff. Slide decks with a glow about them and nothing underneath. Meanwhile the actual business owners we knew — the joiners, the clinics, the accountants, the wee shops — were still copying numbers between spreadsheets at nine at night.
So we built the agency we'd want to hire. One that treats "did ye, aye?" as a compliment. Bring us your doubt; we'll bring receipts. We start with one irritating process, measure it honestly, and only carry on if the results are worth your money. If AI isn't the answer, we'll tell you that too — sometimes the fix is a tidier process and better hosting, and there's no shame in either.
The name is the whole promise in three words. You ask "did ye… AI?" — half curious, half taking the mickey. And we get to answer: "Aye. We actually did. Here's the proof."
What we hold to
Proof over patter
Anyone can promise. We'd rather show you last month's numbers.
Plain words only
If we can't explain it at the bar, we've not understood it well enough.
Small first
Start with one process. Earn the right to do the next one.
Own the boring bits
Backups, monitoring, documentation. Unglamorous, and exactly why folk stay.
Fair warning: we're friendly, we're funny, and we're absolutely relentless about things working. That combination is rarer than it should be.
Put us to the test