Almost nobody starts from zero.

Nobody restores something worthless. That is the first thing the word carries: whatever is being worked on already has value, and the value is the whole reason for the effort. It is not a rescue. It is certainly not a makeover.

Almost nobody arrives at coaching starting from zero. They arrive at minus something, or at a dead stop. A separation that halved a household and doubled the paperwork. A redundancy that landed in the middle of a mortgage. A business that was a decent idea and still did not work. Or the quietest version of all: ten years of just-about-managing, where nothing went badly wrong and nothing got better either.

By then people have usually been told, one way or another, that the problem is them. That they are bad with money. That they should have seen it coming. Restoration starts from the opposite assumption: the structure is sound, the finish has taken a beating, and the work is careful, unglamorous and worth doing.

The word sets the method too. A restorer does not begin with a grand plan; they begin by finding out what is actually there. Strip it back, look at the damage without flinching, then work in order: structure before surface, because a beautiful coat of paint over a rotten frame is money spent twice. An honest picture first. Decisions second. Nothing skipped because it is uncomfortable to look at.

And it sets the pace. Writing a plan takes an afternoon; living one takes a year. That is why programmes here are measured in months, and why the useful question is never what should I do but what will I still be doing in March.

Finally, it is a limit. A restorer does not quietly bin the thing and sell you a shinier replacement. The work is the work.