Twelve things we might tell you, and a cap you can see.
The feature is called Nagging because that is what it is, and naming it honestly is the only way to keep ourselves to four a week. Every row below is switchable, three are on by default, and the marketing one is off and stays off unless you turn it on.
Every message this account can send you.
Twelve events across three channels. SMS is on for exactly two of them, because a text costs us money and interrupts you, which is a high bar.
Capped at four a week, and nothing between nine at night and eight in the morning — except the combine, which does not consult anybody. The name of this feature is the promise. If we ever break the cap, the setting is wrong rather than you.
What each channel is for.
| Channel | What goes on it | Why |
|---|---|---|
| Push | Everything, if you allow it | Free, instant, dismissible, and easy to turn off entirely |
| The substantial ones, with photographs | A tiller count deserves more than forty characters | |
| SMS | Two things: the combine, and genuine bad news | It costs us money and it interrupts you |
| Post | Nothing, unless you asked for a printed gift card | We are not sending anybody a catalogue |
| The dashboard | All twelve, always, whether you are told or not | The record does not depend on the notification |
Four a week, and what happens when there are five.
The cap is four notifications a week per person across all channels, and it is real rather than aspirational. When a fifth is generated it is not sent — it is queued and it appears on the dashboard, and it goes out the following week if it is still relevant.
Three things are exempt from the cap: the combine, genuine bad news about something you hold, and a delivery that is arriving today. Those three are exempt because deferring them by a week makes them worthless rather than late.
Everything else waits its turn, and in a busy fortnight — lambing overlapping a drop overlapping a box shipment — a few things simply never get sent. That is the correct behaviour. The alternative is nine notifications in a week and a member who turns all of them off for ever.
- Four a week, across every channel combined
- Three exemptions: the combine, bad news, and a delivery arriving today
- The fifth is queued, not sent
- Queued messages expire rather than piling up
- The dashboard carries all twelve regardless
What we do before ever sending anything.
Ask, in context, at the right moment
The push permission is requested after your first order, not on the first page load. Asking on arrival is how you get a permanent no.
Default almost everything to off
Three of twelve are on by default. The other nine are your decision.
Show the cap on the settings screen
A frequency cap you cannot see is a frequency cap you cannot hold us to.
Make one-tap unsubscribe work properly
Every email carries a List-Unsubscribe header as well as the link, so the mail client button does what it says.
Never re-enable anything on your behalf
Not on a new feature, not on a product launch, not after a redesign.
Marketing consent is separate, and it is opt-in.
The bottom row of that table is the only one that is marketing, and it is off. Under the Privacy and Electronic Communications Regulations we need your consent for it, we ask for it once, and a refusal is not treated as a question to be asked again in six months.
Nagging, questioned.
Yes. Turn all twelve off and everything works exactly as it did; you read the dashboard when you feel like it instead of being told.
No. SMS exists for two events, it is not a marketing list, and this build collects nothing that leaves your browser anyway.
Anything that changes what you will receive: a failed establishment, a write-off, a drought call, or a harvest that has come in materially short. Sent the same day rather than held until it reads better.
Because a drop selling out is disappointing and being texted about it at half past eight is worse. Push is the right amount of urgent.
Quiet hours, and the one exception.
Nine at night to eight in the morning, and a combine that starts at seven.
