You already do all of this. It just lives in six places.

Name, dates, where it is, and what it costs to get in. A festival moves from requested to planning, ready, live and closed, and the status decides what the world can see at each step — including a note for anyone who finds you while you are still planning. Nothing goes public because a date passed. You say when.

A logo, a banner and three colours: the heading colour, the intro block and the page behind it. Attendees see your festival, with our name nowhere near the top of it.

Breweries keep their own catalogue up to date, so most of the typing is already done. Add what you've taken, set your price in pounds or tokens, and write your own description if the brewery blurb isn't what you'd say. Put the cost you paid next to the price you're charging and the margin works itself out. Tick off what's ordered and what's turned up, so nobody has to keep asking.

Name the stages, book the acts and talks against a day and a time, and the running order comes out the other end. An act gets its own page and its own link, the same as a sponsor does.

Food vendors sit outside the stage timetable, because they are not booked against a stage. Each one gets its own opening hours, a menu file attendees can open on their phone, and links to its website and socials.

Sponsorship attaches to a stage, a drink or a band, and shows up wherever that thing appears: their logo, and a link straight through to their own site. That is the bit paper cannot do — an advert in a programme gets looked at, this gets tapped, by somebody deciding what to drink next. Glasses and shirt slots are recorded too, so the whole deal sits in one place.

Nothing goes to print, so nothing has a cut-off. Add a beer the morning it arrives, move a set an hour before it starts, swap an act that cancelled on the Friday night. Everyone's phone has the new version straight away, and nobody spends the weekend reading something that was true a fortnight ago.

Every drink runs not ordered, ordered, arrived, racked, tapped, running low, sold out — and casks get racked where a keg skips straight to pouring. Your side of that is stock control and stays yours. Attendees only ever see the last two, because whether a beer is nearly gone or actually gone is the only part that changes what someone does next. A sold-out drink stays on the list so people can see what they missed. They just can't score it.

Add co-organisers to a festival and they get their own way in. The thing a shared spreadsheet cannot do is let two people work on it on a Tuesday evening without one of them having to ask the other to close it first.

Breweries, bands and food traders can list themselves for organisers to browse by category. It is early and there are only a handful on there so far, so most festivals still add their own — which works the same way and takes a minute. The browsing gets more useful as more vendors join.

Attendees browsing the app see festivals near them, so yours turns up for people who were never going to hear about it otherwise. That is the part word of mouth does not reach.

A fixed set of festival emails — save the date, what is pouring, the last push, the thank you — each sendable once, inside a window tied to your dates. Only to people who opted in, and only to people who can unsubscribe in one tap without signing in.