From an app you build to an app you can run.
Building the thing was last episode. This one is about the day it meets people — a room of them, at once, on the same Wi-Fi, all tapping at the same second. That turns out to ask for different things: room to breathe when a crowd arrives, a way to take one message down without wiping the wall, numbers that come back to you instead of living only on the page, and an address that stays put when everything else changes. All four shipped. Read it as a tour — each stop shows what changed and how you'd use it.
Publishing is the easy day. Running it is every other day.
A page that nobody has used yet is a simple thing. It gets complicated the moment there's a crowd (they all arrive at the same second), a second edition (does it need a whole new site?), a bad message (do you really wipe everything?), and a question from your boss (what exactly are we storing?). This episode is the answer to those four days — the ones that come after the launch.
A whole room can now vote at the same second.
Here's a thing that only breaks in public. Two hundred people in a conference hall share one Wi-Fi, which means the internet sees them as one visitor. Every protection built to stop a single script hammering your page was, from where the room was standing, stopping the room. The vote you put on the closing slide would have died on stage. So we changed what gets measured: a budget now belongs to a page someone opened, not to the network they're standing on. Your audience stopped competing with itself.
Rate the session
Three to five fixed choices — “too technical”, “just right”, “loved it” — and the bars fill in as the room taps. One read brings back the whole picture.
Instant resultsA wall everyone sees
Leave a message; it appears for the rest of the room within seconds, without anyone reloading anything.
Live wallQuestions, ranked by the room
The audience asks, the audience upvotes, the best questions rise to the top. You answer in the order people actually care about.
Live Q&AAnd the thing that makes it reusable, month after month:
- ✓ One project, every edition — the link carries which meetup it is, so June and July stay separate without a new site
- ✓ Nothing to set up between editions — invent a new link, put it on the slide, done
- ✓ Your AI knows these shapes now — ask for “an end-of-talk feedback page” and it builds the right one instead of improvising
Lena runs a design meetup, second Tuesday of the month. She asks her assistant once for a feedback page, and gets a link she keeps forever. Every month she just changes the ending:
On the last slide she puts lena.sites.trybailey.app/#/june. Forty people scan it, rate the talk, and half leave a note. Next month it's #/july — same page, clean slate, June's results still sitting there when she wants to compare. One project, twelve editions a year.
Your numbers stopped living only on the page.
You could count things — votes, likes, ratings — and the page would show them beautifully. But you, the person who made it, had nowhere to go and look. The tallies existed and were invisible from your own dashboard, which is a strange thing for a product that promises you can see everything it holds. Fixed, and while we were in there: a way to take one message down, and a way to start a fresh round.
Counters you can read
Every tally your site keeps now shows up in your data tab, highest first. What won, what nobody picked, in plain numbers.
In your dashboardTake one message down
Spam, an insult, something posted by mistake: delete that entry from its row. The wall stays. Everything else stays.
ModerationStart a fresh round
Reset the counters and everything goes back to zero for the next vote, the next month, the next run of the same poll.
New round- ✓ A daily recap in your inbox — one email, once a day, at the hour you pick: what came in, nothing more. Off in one click, no login needed
- ✓ Deleting a message ≠ erasing a person — two different gestures, recorded as two different things, so your trail stays honest
- ✓ Private journals stay private — if members keep their own entries, you still can't read them, so you can't moderate them either. They delete their own
Chez Marco runs a “what should we cook next month?” vote on the trattoria's page. Three hundred votes come in. Marco opens Bailey and sees it straight away: osso buco 141, cacio e pepe 97, the rest nowhere. One person also used the suggestion box to insult the chef down the street — Marco deletes that single line from its row; the other suggestions don't move.
First of the month, he resets the counters and the next vote starts clean. The dish that won last time is on the menu, not in a spreadsheet.
An address that stops moving under your feet.
Links are the one thing you don't control after you share them. They're in someone's bookmarks, in a printed flyer, in an email from March. So the worst thing a hosting platform can do is let an address quietly stop working. This episode the address became the durable part: your own domain, a main one that everything else points at, and old links that keep working after you rename things.
Your own domain — even the bare one
Not just www: the naked domain works too. Point it at Bailey, verify it, and the certificate takes care of itself.
Bring your domainOne main address
Pick which one is the address. The others send visitors there instead of quietly serving a second copy of your site.
No duplicate youOld links keep working
Rename your project and the previous address still lands people in the right place, instead of on a dead page.
Nothing breaks- ✓ Moved a page? Say so once — declare where it went and everyone who had the old link arrives at the new one
- ✓ Prove the site is yours to Google — paste the code in a field; it stays put across every future publish, instead of vanishing with your next upload
- ✓ Good delivery settings, applied for you — big search previews, sensible caching, the security headers nobody should have to know about
Chez Marco started as chez-marco.sites.trybailey.app, printed on two hundred menus. Then Marco bought chezmarco.fr. He connects it, sets it as the main address, and from then on the bare domain, the www one and the old Bailey link all land on the same page — the printed menus keep working.
In September he renames the project. The address from the flyers still gets people there. Nothing he handed out ever becomes a dead end.
Room to grow — and to tidy.
“Upload failed” is the least helpful sentence in software. It doesn't say what was too big, or what you'd have to remove to fix it. So space stopped being invisible: your project now tells you what it weighs, warns you before you hit the ceiling, and lets you clear out old versions in one pass — while keeping the one that's actually online safe from you.
See what it weighs
Per version and in total, in your settings. And a warning on the overview when you're close — before the publish that would have failed.
Storage, visibleTidy in one pass
Select the old versions you don't need, see how much they'd free, and clear them together. The live one can't be picked by accident.
Bulk cleanupBig sites go up
A real site with thousands of files used to hit an invisible wall at one thousand. It's ten thousand now, and a refusal says which limit you met.
10,000 files- ✓ The command line grew up — link a folder once, then publish with a bare command; it speaks English, and lists your sites with their real addresses
- ✓ Pull your site back down — get the published version and its settings, edit, republish
Answers, not assurances.
At some point someone asks the question — a client, a colleague, whoever handles privacy where you work: what exactly are we storing, why, and for how long? The honest answer isn't a promise, it's a document. So Bailey now produces one, from what your sites actually do rather than from what anyone remembers.
A register you can hand over
Every store across your team's sites: what it holds, why, how long it's kept, who's responsible. Dated, exportable, generated from reality.
Invite your DPOUnreadable if the disk walks
What people submit is encrypted where it's stored, and in the backups. A stolen drive is a stolen drive, not a leak.
Encrypted at restWho looked, and when
Reading what people submitted leaves a trace — dashboard, command line or assistant alike. Never the person's identity, always the fact.
Access log- ✓ Every data change this episode went through an independent review and a separate security audit — two found things worth fixing, and they were fixed before this page was written
- ✓ Still one click from off — pause collection, or take the whole site down, and it takes effect immediately
- What we store
- every store, every site, listed
- Why
- the purpose declared when it was set up
- For how long
- declared — and actually applied
- Who can answer for it
- named, per store
Where the line points.
Results, not rows
“62% found it useful” instead of three hundred lines to read yourself — with the option to show that summary back to the people who voted.
Content you edit without republishing
The list your page shows — the options, the line-up, this week's picks — editable from your dashboard or by asking your AI, no upload involved.
Instant, no polling
Live boards that update the moment something lands, instead of checking every few seconds. Lighter on phones in a full room.
Upload a file
A photo on a form, an attachment, an avatar — held under the same governance as everything else you collect.
Publish it. Run it. Answer for it.
Connect your AI once, then just ask — for a feedback page your whole room can use, a menu vote, a board that ranks itself. Whatever you build, everything it holds stays visible, accounted for, and one click from off.