ContraTempo Escape Room
Escape room · Braga, Portugal
A video of the room on the homepage, a price per person that changes with the number of players, today's hours and the Google reviews, in Portuguese and English.
Our work
The clients come first, because they are what counts: two in Portugal and one in England, none in the US yet. After them are demo sites: invented businesses, real websites. Reserve a table, fill a cart, book an appointment. Everything works and nothing is ever charged.
Escape room · Braga, Portugal
A video of the room on the homepage, a price per person that changes with the number of players, today's hours and the Google reviews, in Portuguese and English.
Insurance agency · Portugal
A section for each type of coverage, a quote form that lands in his inbox, and WhatsApp on every screen.
Damp proofing and plastering · Heswall, England
A self-check that tells you what kind of damp problem you have before you call anyone, fourteen finished walls, and a coverage map drawn to scale.
Tutoring center · Vila Nova de Gaia, Portugal
A page per service, visits booked through the site, and local detail written for people searching on their phones.
Finishing trades · Lisbon, Portugal
A page for each trade (plastering, tiling, painting, insulated render and masonry), videos of the crew at work and a map to the office, in Portuguese and English.
★★★★★
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.
★★★★★
Teialoom provided a fast, dedicated, and professional service when developing my escape room website. They were always available to make any changes and took the time to understand my business identity, ensuring the website truly reflected it. Their focus was always on finding the best solutions for my business. Highly recommend!
★★★★★
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, each built around a job a small business needs its website to do. Most are set in England or Portugal, where our clients are; what each one does works the same wherever you are.
Opens like a car reveal: the pilot flame lights and the name rises off a line of light. Then fixed prices, the areas covered and a quote in thirty seconds.
A copper pipe drawn like an engineer’s drawing opens the page and carries water down it; then a house in cutaway with a fixed price on every fault, and a boiler price in four questions.
A seafront roofer on the Wirral whose hero is a gale off Liverpool Bay, with a wind gauge that falls as you scroll, ridge tiles that lift and settle, and a storm-damage check that says how soon to ring.
A garden plan draws itself, grows as you scroll and becomes the finished garden above the Dee; then a slope terraces itself behind sandstone walls, and a patio estimator prices the stone.
Opens on a photograph of a kitchen and six paints named after the coast: pick one and every door changes colour; then lets you draw and price your own, with knock-throughs for the 1930s semis of the Wirral.
Opens on a terraced front door at night, then walks into its lock: five pins picked to the shear line as you scroll until the plug turns; fixed call-out prices by the hour and a checker that reads your cylinder for your insurer.
Opens on a period front room whose walls are rolled through six colours from a south Liverpool card as you scroll, then a ceiling rose draws itself, and a room calculator gives the litres, tins and a fixed guide price.
Opens on a drawing of a south Manchester semi that grows a floor as you scroll, then checks whether your loft needs planning permission; fixed prices paid in stages, and a free survey booked on the page.
A wall tiles itself course by course out of the finished bathroom, and scrolling grouts it into the photograph; then a fifteen-day schedule that fills as you scroll, and a refit price from seven questions.
A box sash that draught-proofs itself as you scroll, with real rain on the glass and a restore-or-replace checker.
A Chester tree surgeon whose hero takes a misty canopy down in four sections as you scroll, then a checker that says whether you need the council before you cut.
A Warrington plasterer whose page skims an Artex ceiling under a torch as you scroll, and tells you the day you can paint.
An independent garage by Bank Quay station that tells you when your MOT is due, what it costs, and what every advisory means.
Opens on a dark kitchen until you press the switch; then the services as a fuse board whose breakers flip on as you scroll, and a price for an EV charger in thirty seconds.
The damp on the wall dries as you scroll while a moisture meter counts down beside it; then which damp it really is, what each fix costs, and a survey booked with photos.
Opens in a downpour over Kendal’s slate roofs that clears as you scroll, then builds a roof layer by layer; prices with the scaffold in, and a quote form that asks if water is coming in now.
A family plumbing firm in Bristol: call-outs at any hour, fixed prices, before and after photos, and a quote form that asks how urgent it is. Built as a template for any plumber.
An all-day café with a bakery downstairs: it opens on a steaming mug in the low sun, runs its day on a clock as you scroll, and keeps a board of what comes out of the oven next.
A candlelit osteria in Leith where fireflies drift over the name and shy away from your cursor, dinner runs course by course as you scroll, and a table is booked in four steps.
A burger restaurant on the ground floor of an old print works in Leeds. The opening is a film of the burger being served, which turns into a 3D burger when it ends and comes apart into its six layers as you scroll, each with where it comes from. Then the menu, the suppliers, ordering to collect and the hours.
The menu is the page: dated, marked where it changed this morning, and one dish already struck out because it has gone.
Selling bags and subscriptions, with a checkout that does not need an app.
A twenty-two cover tasting menu that fills sixty covers, and a site that looks like the room.
One recipe, and a board of baking times that corrects itself through the day.
Booking an appointment takes four taps and no phone call during opening hours.
The timetable is the homepage and a membership is three taps away.
A poster you scroll, opening on the needle at work, edge to edge.
Six rooms taking their own bookings instead of paying fifteen per cent to a platform.
A whole day told by scrolling, photograph by photograph, from eleven in the morning to the cellar at night.
A private tennis club in four screens named after a score: pick an hour on court, book it, and take your place on the waiting list.
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 family zoo with a guide: Pip, a 3D red panda who walks in from the bamboo, waves and follows your cursor with his eyes. The sky behind him keeps the visitor’s own time of day, then come the animals, a map of the park, keeper talks and tickets.
Forty-one local sellers, each with their own storefront and their own payouts.
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.
The clip is one continuous head turn, paused and re-seeked to track the cursor, never playing on its own.
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 steel frame builder, with a site built entirely around scroll, the way the frame draws itself.
Food-grade recycled PET pellets, sold to the people who make packaging. A site where the spec sheet is the sales pitch.
The work is the argument, so the site gets out of the way of the photographs.
A stills and motion studio, and the loudest of them: a custom cursor and a scroll-driven reel.
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 design studio’s landing page: a glass pyramid bends the giant headline behind it and turns when you drag it, and every project below carries its own pane of glass.
A web design studio in two screens, each over its own film: the headline sharpens out of a blur word by word, and every button and card is frosted glass the footage drifts behind.
A liquid-metal mass raymarched behind the whole page, re-forming as you scroll and pushed around by the pointer.
A focus timer for the Mac over one looping film: the menu bar counts down, the app's window is drawn in the page itself, and the day draws itself as you scroll.
An unofficial concept for Liverpool’s airport, not affiliated with it: a searchable flight board, security queues, a parking calculator and a help desk that answers with AI.
Fifteen minutes on a video call and we design your homepage, with your words and your business, before you pay anything.