Beat bleak business times with some banging SEO

There is no doubt this is a tough time for UK businesses which is why – whether you are Maurice’s Pet Shop, or a global tech business - having an up-to-date, Google-grabbing website is essential for attracting new business and raising all important revenue. But in these bleak business times is your website working hard enough?

With peoples’ attention spans shorter than a gnat’s whisker it is no good appearing on page four of Google’s search results, by then your buyer has opened the first two links, spied what they want, bagged it and run. 

To give your website the edge on Google, it is important that each page is given the full SEO (Search Engine Optimisation) treatment, which is basically making sure that Google understands exactly what it is you do.  

Here are 9 tips to make your website work harder for you:

1.    Keywords - The first step to website wonderment is to identify the relevant keywords for your business. This is relatively simple; all you have to do is concentrate on the words that people type into a search engine to find the services you offer.

For example, if you sell fishing tackle, users might type in ‘fishing tackle’, ‘fishing rods’ or ‘fishing equipment.’ You also want to identify location-based keywords, as people often type in what they are looking for, followed by the location. For example, ‘fishing tackle High Wycombe’.

Much better than the power of guesswork, however, is to employ some nifty tools to find relevant keywords for you, such as, Google Analytics or the Google Adwords keywords function.

2.    Once you have identified your relevant keywords try to use them in your website domain name. For example, calling your website www.billybass.co.uk doesn’t include information about what you do, where as ‘billsfishingtackleinwycombe.co.uk’ does.

3.    As well as including a selection of carefully chosen keywords in your META description - the short description of your business below your Google listing - also use your keywords in each of your page URLs. For example: www.billsfishingtackle.co.uk/fly-fishing-tackle

4.    Another way to improve your ranking is to make sure you include your main keyword in your page headings and subheading tags.

5.    Pepper your keywords throughout the text on all of your web pages. You shouldn't over stuff your content with keywords as it will read oddly; instead use them in the natural flow of the text. Also underline or bold keywords where you mention them to reinforce what your site is about.   

6.    If you link to another page on your site, use your keywords in the link as this will help improve your site ranking too. For example, if on page one you are talking about fishing rods and you mention fishing bait, you may want to include a link to another page selling fishing bait. Never use ‘click here’ to take your reader to another page, instead make the keyword the link. For example: ‘find out more about fishing bait’

      

7.    Meaningful, well-written content is a must for a successful website. Google prioritises sites with quality, authoritative content about a subject, so although it may take time (or a little investment if you hire a professional copywriter to do it) it will boost your website ranking.

No one around? This is High Wycombe's old bus station. Don't let this happen to your website.

8.    Get back-links. To help improve your site ranking, try to get listed on other reputable sites in your field that rank highly on Google, you can do this by offering to write a guest post or add a tantalising blog to your site that people with a common interest will share. Basically, the more sites that link to your site, the more gold stars Google will give you.

9.    As soon as you have completed your site, submit it to Google. Don’t expect things to happen overnight, it can take several weeks for Google to index a new site. In the meantime, work on making some worthwhile back-links from other quality sites that operate in your field.

These are just the basics and there are several more techniques you can use to improve your Google ranking.   

If you’re launching, or already have an online business, it is important to make sure your website has the right ingredients Google loves, this may take a little time but the reward of fresh, hungry custom will be well worth it.  

For more free friendly advice, pop over to www.melissablamey.com or reach me on Twitter @melissa blamey

Stay Classy San Diego.

  

         

10 things toddlers do that drive you bananas

If you were in Asda today, you might have heard me. I was the blonde fishwife bawling at the three year old to come back/put that down/don’t eat that.  Besides it being easier to take a goat to do your weekly shop, here are 10 other things toddlers do that drive you nuts:

1. Drawing on stuff – walls, the dog, themselves, you, sadly nothing is off limits to a little Salvador Farley armed with a Sharpie. The key is to have lots of scrap paper (birth certificates are good), Cif and gin for later.

2. Hiding stuff – your everyday survival kit - car keys, bank cards and mobile – are under constant threat of becoming toddler treasure. Like magpies who hone in on purely essential items, there is one rule: if they can reach it, it’s fair game. The truth is you've got to stay one step ahead: if you need it, hide it. If you've lost it, check your shoes.

3. Eating stuff – If a toddler’s five-a-day included chalk, bogies, insoles, sel-o-tape and dry dog kibble they would be extremely well nourished. This morning I caught my three year old chewing on a repeat prescription. Please, stick to the edible stuff kids.

4. Saying stuff - Me: “Oh, look, it’s Uncle Alex.”

Toilet roll used as bath toy

Uncle Alex: “Hello, Poppy how are you?”
Poppy: “I don’t like Uncle Alex. He’s got a hairy nose hole.”
Brilliant.

5. Not saying stuff:  Kids who have grasped the concept of talking, do so, a lot. If they’re anything like mine, they prattle, all-day-long. Except when it comes to talking on the phone, then their mouths shut faster than a decent shop on Wycombe high street.
Holding phone out, pleading voice: “darling, please say hello to gramps, it’s his birthday...he’s in hospital...on the Liverpool Care Pathway...please....?” 

6. Touching stuff - I understand the desire to touch is pretty strong in toddlers. But really, everything? From train toilet seats, duck poo and dog’s bottoms, to buying apps you don’t need and calling your work while you are ‘otherwise engaged’ in the bathroom, it is never enough for a toddler to look, it needs a jolly good poke, followed by a press ‘send’ just to make sure.      

7. Weeing on stuff – I had witnessed the phenomena of ‘mums being weed on’ by little boys so was quite glad to have a slightly more 'contained’ little girl, except when it came to toilet training. Holding my little one over a public toilet one day, she projectile peed all over my new Zara jumper.

Top tip: carry a spare top and immerse them as far as possible in the loo to 'minimise seepage'.

8. Falling off stuff – we’ve graced the presence of various Buckinghamshire A&Es three this year. Always unprepared, always without change for car parks and the fetid water they call tea, always to be told she’s ok, always to leave feeling like a new parent twonk.

9. Breaking stuff – I maintain an invoice of items my daughter has ruined/broken on my laptop (including a laptop) and plan to hand it to her 18th birthday, like an anti-disney princess story.  

So far the list comprises:
X 1 X-box – reason: play dough shoved the disc drive
X 1 laptop screen – reason: danced on
X 1 car CD player – reason: used as a money box
X 1 pug dog – reason: fed raisins (ok he’s still with us but the vet did say it was touch and go)
X 1 Guerlain bronzer – reason: smashed into a million pieces, mixed with water and made into teddy food
X numerous CDs – reason: used as ice skates

10. Your stuff - what does your toddler do that drives you bananas? Do tell...

Say hi at www.melissablamey.com

Follow me on Twitter @melissablamey 

The Break-Up

Yes. I admit it.

I haven't done it for six months. Six, long, could-have-travelled-around-the-world but-watched-every-episode-of-Come-Dine-With-Me-Instead-months.   

Between writing, shopping and wiping mushed in custard creams from the antimacassars (don’t have any really but fyi they are those square cloths that Nannas put over the back of their sofas to stop your head soiling their upholstery), at the end of the day, I simply haven't had the energy to do it.

I'm amazed it's still there and hasn't fallen off to be honest. But the other day I checked and there it was. It even looks the same.

I mean, it's sulking but who wouldn't if no one had paid you any attention for this long?

Anyway, enough is enough, there are only so many excuses you make, it is time to pet the neglected elephant in the room.

This is probably going to be ugly. Shall we? 

Hello Blog.

Blog: Oh my god, it is actually you. I didn't recognise you.  I see you had to reset your password it has been so long.

I know, I know. I'm sorry, ok? No one is more disappointed than me. Anyway, I'm here and I am bursting with ...

Blog: Woah, woah back up there Paris Chiltern. You log back in, sorry, break in - I had the locks changed for a reason you know AND your new password is obvious by the way - and expect me to publish when you say? I mean where have you been? What, did the Crazy Horse cabaret not work out for you?

Hey Madam. I’ve been busy. Really busy. A proper busy bee. But I wasn't so busy to realise that I do actually need you.

Blog: You need me?

Yep. You are a string to my bow. The pork pie at my picnic. My unexpected item in my bagging area. You complete me.

Blog: Well seeing as you put it like that. Let’s do this thing big girl. Oh and don’t even think about changing my font. This isn’t a re-branding exercise. Oh and kick some of those spam monkeys to the curb before you start. “I love your blog, it made my life better...read mine at cheap filter cigarettes.com,” gah. Jog on you virtual pigeons pecking at the cyber crumbs of my blog cake.    

I’ll go get my virtual feather duster.

....

It’s hard starting a blog, keeping it up for a while and then, whoops, there you go, four months has passed since your last entry. 

But anything that requires discipline (the gym, a diet, for me, reading a book) is tough.  But in the end, whether you blog for business or pleasure it helps you. If you, like me, have neglected your blog, it’s not too late for you two to work things out.

Five things to blog about when your blog cup has run dry

What’s for dinner? Yep, people are fascinated by the ins and outs of everyone’s lives including what they eat. 

“Mmm, what are you having?”
“We’re having dairylea on toast because I can’t be bothered to go to little Tesco and that in my mind constitutes a warm meal”
“Brilliant”.
“I’ll give you the recipe”.

Learnt something new? I found out what antimacassers are today. No, really? Yes. Tell your audience about something new you have learnt. Easy peasy.

Where’s the dog? No that’s not one.  I am actually wondering where the dog is. In fact I might call my next post 'where’s the dog?'. 

What are you decorating? Maybe nothing. But it’s nice to dream. Write about it.

Say what? I love blogs and books that focus on the inane spoutings of children and people in supermarkets.

For example, our three year old pronounces the word helicopter as 'helitotter' and there is much comedy to be found in faux emergency conversations:

“There are two adults stranded on the north rock face, we’re going to need a winch, alert the helitotter team immediately."

And then next week (ok maybe two weeks) I’ll give you my latest blog – five things that toddlers do that drive you crackers. 

Have you had a break-up with your blog? How did you get your writing groove back?

Come and say hi at my shiny new site www.melissa.blamey.com

No Disassemble! Number Five - Our Shed - is ALIVE!

It’s big, it’s cumbersome, it’s housing arachnids with bodies the size of cup cakes. But when it is time for your faithful shed to go to the great wood chipper in the sky, what exactly do you do with a shed that doesn’t want to die? 

I inherited our shed from my mum who inherited it from her grandfather. Having carefully housed three generations of Blamey garden ‘gubbins’,  last week I looked out at our tired, saggy roofed shed squatting at the bottom of our garden and decided that it was time to euthanize our old friend. 

For a start the roof felt had gone, the boards were rotting and no matter how many litres of Country Brown fence paint I slapped on it in every spring, by autumn the wood was peeking through. This combined with the smell of wet dog and old tea bags that filled your nostrils every time you went in no longer made it a garden haven but a place to avoid.

Having decided that the shed had fettered our view for long enough, I looked around for a shiny new number on the internet.  Which I quickly found.  There she was – ‘Blooma’ - all sparkly and nubile with shiny windows, the promise of 10-year rot free guarantee and – and! – Someone will put her up for the bargain price of £30. Sold! To the lazy lady in the corner who’d rather read Heat magazine and paint her toenails than faff about for half a day putting up a shed.     

But with beautiful Blooma arriving in the next five days I faced the conundrum of what to do with the old shed.

A quick shove and a swear

Looking at its dilapidated form, I decided that all I needed to do was set aside one balmy evening for operation ‘Shed Demolition’, give it a decent shove, a good swear and the whole lot should come clattering down in perfect Green Bin sized planks.

So armed with a hammer and a bottle of pinot grigio I set to it.  A bit of tugging, a large crack – which drew one of our neighbours to his back door to give me one of his best ‘what are you doing now looks’ – and half the roof came away.  Thinking this will be done in time for Teen Mom 2 and a nice cup of tea – I set about trying to break down the walls.  However, after much shoving, some kicks, several hammer blows and lots of stepping back to take large swigs of pinot and size up my opponent, I realised that it wasn’t going to budge.

Like an opening scene from Holby City, I tipsily decided to call in back up in the form of a sledge hammer and pick axe.  But despite swinging both at the walls as hard as I could the sledge hammer bounced off the wood and out of my hand, whilst the pick axe just made neat two inch rodent sized entry holes in the wood.

Realising it was much sturdier and tougher than I had ever imagined, at this point I decided to what any sensible person would have done and began to unscrew the walls from the remaining roof.

Finally confronted with a large shed jigsaw we  - my long suffering partner, Matt, who has witnessed all manner of my wine fuelled DIY demolition projects over the last seven years – from blowing up the pampas grass with petrol, to sledge hammering an asbestos lined  chimney breast -  had to decide what to do with our shed.

Too big to be tipped, too knackered to be sold we decided to teach it a lesson and set it on fire.

For three nights shed carcass burnt on our vacant vegetable patch.

I now know that you don’t mess with 25 year old sheds. They’re stubborn, they’re angry and like Number Five they are much of the ‘no disassemble!’ school of thought.

I have learnt my shed lesson, have you?            

Just time to tweet this before I call the fire brigade....

                 

Timed Out

There are a few things in my life I can guarantee.  

I will always overestimate how much is in my bank account. 

I will always underestimate the number of alcohol units I consume each week.  

I will always drop a morsel of every meal down my front. 

And now there is another 'inevitable'.  

I will always underestimate how much time I have.

In the past two weeks I have undergone a steep work learning curve.  So steep in fact I think even Bear Grylls would have turned on his Timberlands and said, ‘bugger that'.

Having enjoyed a relatively smooth transition from working 'for the man' to working for myself, I have been lucky to have found enough freelance writing work to keep me in Pop Tarts. However, as my two year old is about to start attending nursery three days a week (instead of two mornings – barely time to have a cup of tea and a wee) I decided to notch my work load up a little by joining one of the country's leading copywriting agencies.     

Three projects? No problem! This time next week? Of course, just send me the brief.

Green

Like the first time I brought home our tiny new born daughter from the hospital, I genuinely did not have a clue what I had signed up for.

Morphing into Star Wars’ Jabba the Hutt chained to my lap top - Salacious Crumb - I angrily occupied a corner of our spare room for the next three days.  

Occasionally barking orders at my endlessly patient partner, such as, ‘feed the dog' and 'bring more Smarties' I didn't cook dinner, or shower for three days.  

At one point, in fear of not meeting my self imposed deadline I attempted to pull an ‘all nighter’.

A phenomenon not experienced since my days at Leeds University. An ‘all nighter’ in your mid-thirties, with a small child and a pug, is quite different.  

For a start there is no sneaking off to the bar for last orders, or necking pro-plus like pac man to help you ‘push on til dawn’. No, an all nighter in your mid thirties basically entails staying up unitl 11.30, drinking lots of early grey tea and being quite cross.

      

On day two, when I briefly left my work fug to *walk the dog (*angrily drag dog round park in attempt to vent work stress on innocent members of the public and squirrels) I left the boot of my car open. Not unlocked, but open. With my hand bag on show. Open. 

Thankfully it was so *brazen (*idiotic) that anyone passing must have thought I was *nearby (*an utter moron with nothing worth stealing except a prescription for complete and utter idiocy), instead of half a mile away foaming at the local wildlife.

Now two weeks into writing for the copywriting agency, I have finally found my work/life groove.    

Whether I can sustain this without turning squirrels into hand puppets is another matter.

Juggling balls - how’s your work/life/baby/dog balance?

   

'My work-life balance is fine. Now get me jaffa cakes before I cut you'.

Songs For My Daughter

Music is important to me.  The daughter of a professional rhythm and blues drummer father and tap dancer mother, I grew up in a home where there was a track for every occasion. 

There was Rod Stewart for the good times.  In particular, Maggie May would often herald the start of a dinner party, followed by Hot Legs when it all went ‘Mexico’ half way through, then Mandolin Wind for the Blue Nun come down and After Eights. 

Then there was Dolly Parton for the sad times.  ‘I will always love you’ was my mum’s anthem, for what we later dubbed her ‘brandy and sobraine’ years.  I always knew we were in for a difficult night if the strains of ‘Jolene’ could be heard thumping through the soft top of her MG Midget when she picked me up from school.

"Repeat after me: Springsteen, good, Bieber, bad" 

Now having my own child - a blank C45 tape on which to make a musical impression - is both an immensely exciting and terrifying responsibility.

What if I mess it up?  What if she turns into a ‘Belieber’ (one who worships at the flick fringe of Justin Bieber) and decides to plant her musical roots in soulless popville forever?      

It is also a task from which I have excluded my other half.  

An exceptional talent and creative force in so many ways, sadly, he is hooked on ‘pub jukebox BritPop’ made specifically during the period September 1995 to April 1996. (I laughed, then realised that this was true – Matt)

In my mind, student union anthems by Blur, Oasis (Wonderwall is the only exception) and, one hit wonder, Space, doth not a child of music make. 

To cement my thoughts on my musical mission, I have short-listed five of my seminal songs below.  

Kate Bush – what can I say, I love the Bush.  Everything from her contemporary dance, leaping about in a leotard ‘Wuthering Heights’ years, through to her beguiling, if a little cuckoo, 2011 Director’s Cut album. 

Whilst I regard every Kate Bush track as an absolute treasure, the ballad ‘A Coral Room’ from Ariel is my ultimate cache. A song about her late mother, the killer line ‘put your hands over the side of the boat, what do you feel?’ puts me on the tears every time.

Jeff Buckley – Lilac Wine.   A heady song about a lilac tree, lilac wine made from the lilac tree and lamenting a lost love (probably after drinking too much lilac wine), this is music to fall in love to. 

And then kiss someone else too. 

Then drink too much lilac wine to. 

Then play outside the window of the person you originally fell in love with to. 

Ah, quite simply, a beautiful, cyclical song about beautiful cyclical love.   Apply sparingly.

Fleetwood Mac – You Make Loving Fun.  Taken from the Mac’s 1977 album Rumours, for me, this song is an unrivaled, for your driving pleasure, giddy up, belter.     

Sung by the gorgeous Christine McVie (although my true girl crush is Stevie Nicks) this is for life’s, ‘spank me on the bottom and call me Shirley’, good times.   

Peter Sarstedt – Where Do You Go to My Lovely.  A jiggly, sexist ode to a flighty woman (you wouldn't trust her to come back with your change from the bar) this song is musical gold. 

With lyrics such as, “he sent you a you a racehorse for Christmas/And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh ha-ha-ha” this song will bring a hefty splodge of ‘je ne sais quoi?’ to any damp, cold Tuesday.

Ben Folds –  Late.  I was a skeptical, rolly-eyed, latecomer to the party that is Ben Folds’ music. 

But having found him, I’m not going anywhere.  In fact, when he's dishing out the nibbles, I’m going to raid his wardrobe and sleep in his clothes. 

Taken from his 2005 album Songs for Silverman, this song is Ben’s tribute to singer-songwriter Elliott Smith, who died of a self-inflicted knife wound.  

Cheery? No.  A wonderful affirmation that when your chips are down, music will get you through? Absolutely.     

What songs do you play your children?

  

Meme: My first kiss, and other scarring first moments...

Me, sporting some fabulous beads, and my mum, Lyndy, who passed away when I was 25

I was recently tagged by gorgeous mummy blogger and fellow tweeter, poshbird to complete my first ever meme.  Funnily enough, the questions are all about some of the other firsts I have experienced in my life.    


So, like Johnny Ball, I will reveal all...

First Boyfriend

My first boyfriend – if you can call the boy who I exchanged Snoopy Valentine’s Day cards and hung out with at the monkey bars during break time, ‘a boyfriend’ – was called James Hunt.  

James was in my class at primary school, a teeny, weeny school in the teeny weeny village of Frieth.  

The son of a farmer, I recall going to James’ house for a birthday party, where the only entertainment laid on was to ‘pet his ferret’.  

That’s not a euphemism.

First person I kissed?

James and I were little more than friends who swapped novelty rubbers now and again, so the hot stuff only started when I started at secondary school. 

I remember being invited to a girl’s party where we played spin the bottle.  I had to kiss a boy from the neighbouring boy’s grammar school, called Mark.  He had a receding chin (quite a difficult thing to achieve at 13) and wore a cricket jumper.  

I was horrified as he tried to make the kiss more exotic by putting his tongue in my mouth.  I squealed. 

First job?

After graduating from Leeds university with my degree in English Literature and Theatre Studies (I quickly ditched the theatre studies part after my first successful audition was to win a part on a topless stone age darts programme) I returned to my lovely home town of High Wycombe.

The first job I took was at one of those hideous telephone research centres for minimum slave, no sorry, minimum wage, where you call people at home to take part in market research interviews.

I was shown to my booth (also known as ‘a trap’) which contained a telephone, a script, a knackered old computer system and some pornography.  I don't think the pornography was meant to be there but clearly the last trap occupant had had some time to kill between calls.  

Naturally the job was hell (‘Piss off will you love, Countdown’s started’) but my fellow trap occupants were wonderful.  

An enclave for post graduates (not to mention some of the human race's finest broken biscuits who also needed to buy cigarettes and provide their mum’s some rent), it is to date, one of the funniest places I have ever worked.

What did you buy with your first pay packet?

Gosh, something sophisticated like 600 Marlboro lights and a bottle of Pol Remy. 

First album you remember buying?

It was an album by eighties dazzling pop duo, Dollar.  My 11-year old self was utterly smitten with David Van Day.  The toad.

First holiday abroad?

My parents were quite young and rock and roll so we used to pile into a jeep and go camping in the South of France.  I loved it, as being an only child, we used to go with another couple (‘Bryan and Sylvie’) and their three daughters.   

Our parents drank like fish for two weeks whilst we lived like feral children, playing in the dirt and eating sunflower seeds. Holidays like this would end up in the Daily Mail now.

How old were you when you left home?

I never left.  Sadly, my mum passed away when I was 25, so I inherited home.  I also inherited mum’s 170 year old shih tzu, Mr Toad. 

Both Mr Toad and the house were a weight around my neck in my mid twenties but I came to love them both dearly. 

Mr Toad died a few years ago (he’s fertilising a white standard rose in the back garden) but the house is now home to me, my partner Matt, a filmmaker, and our two-year old daughter.  

So now i get to foist my meme baton on to another two bloggers. 

This can be time consuming, especially the remembering part, so no pressure if you don't have the time or the will to take part. However, if you can find time in your child-addled lives, mother.wife.me and Shouty Dad I am sure you will find this an enriching exercise.  But mostly I'd like you to do it so I can have a squiz at your answers.