The new site is signed. Now: fit-out contractors, equipment lead times, the regulator's paperwork, patient records, phone lines, the letters, and the open date you've already promised patients. Clinical work is a specialty. Moving a practice is a project.
The offer, so you don't have to scroll: one owner, from keys to first patient.
Friday, 6:30pm.
You saw the new site in March and loved it. The plan was simple then. The plan is now a folder of quotes, three contractors who don't talk to each other, and a fit-out company whose “two weeks” has entered its fifth.
The clinical team are still doing clinical work: full diaries, real patients, no slack. The move is being run in the fifteen minutes between the last appointment and the notes. The phone system transfer is “with the provider.”
Someone asks, perfectly reasonably, which chairs go where, and you realise the electrical plan and the equipment order were never checked against each other. Two different PDFs. Two different rooms.
None of this is your fault. Running a clinic and relocating a clinic are two different jobs, and only one of them was in your training.
The clinical side will be perfect; it always is. The move is the project. And projects need owners.
The regulator's form that needs the fit-out finished first. The phone number that needs the address first. The equipment that ships when it ships. A clinic move is a critical path wearing scrubs.
Twenty years of projects, told honestly. The Receipt stories are mine and verifiable. The Pattern stories are composites: details changed, lessons intact.
The pattern: the fit-out company and the electrical contractor, both excellent, both waiting on the other's drawings. Nobody was wrong; nobody was talking. The wall went in twice. The second time cost a week, and the week came out of the dark period between sites.
Twenty years of BT programmes taught me the last fortnight of any move is won by a checklist, not heroics: phone lines live before the open day, records tested before the packing, the regulator's forms in before the fit-out dust. Boring, written, in order. It has never once been the wrong instinct.
A practice I've seen more than once: records migrated on schedule, checked by nobody. The first clinic day found two patients with the same file and one with none. Everyone had done their job. Nobody had done the reconciliation. Composite, details changed; the pattern is everywhere.
Twenty years running enterprise programmes at BT scale. £1.5m largest single deal; critical paths, steering groups and real dates, held for a full year at 100% of target.
I've run the whole launch myself (platform, emails, ads, checkout): 232 course sales in four months. I know what every week of that calendar feels like from the inside.
I've held the £2m programme budget on the other side of the table: writing the scopes, choosing the suppliers, cancelling the ones who drift. I know what "nearly there" means from both chairs.
Projects end in decisions: sign-off, buy-in, adoption. Twenty years of getting to yes without pressure means the decision actually gets made, in writing, and stays made.
"I run projects the way I wanted them run when I held the budget. That's not a slogan; it's a specification, learned from the most expensive seat in the room."
Everything that's left, in order, with an owner and a date on every line. One page: if it doesn't fit, the plan isn't finished. Everyone can see what "done" means, including you.
Every line has a name against it, mostly mine. Status is offered before it's asked for, so nobody spends their week chasing updates that never arrive.
Red, amber, green, without the politics. Bad news travels in 24 hours; good news waits for the weekly. A plan nobody trusts is worse than no plan at all.
Go-live is the midpoint, not the finish line. Handover pack, walkthrough, and a team that knows exactly what happens on day 31, because delivery that doesn't stick isn't delivery.
The numbers above, the launches behind them, and a public ledger of the whole journey: applications, rejections, results, lessons. The highlight reel is boring; the delivery is the evidence.
You bring the site, the date and the contractor folder; I'll turn it into one plan with one critical path, and own it through to the first patient through the door. If I can't help, I'll say so and point you somewhere better.
A pitch. There's nothing to buy on the call except a decision, and you'll know inside ten minutes whether I'm the person to run this.
Start to finish: how the client was found, the need proved, the option proposed, the work delivered.
One owner, one critical path, one weekly update in plain English. Your team keeps treating patients; the move gets moved.
Book the 20-minute callYou'll know inside ten minutes. · Every number on this page is verifiable.