Most health apps make you choose which condition you're managing today.
Real life doesn't.
You're still one person trying to work out what to eat tonight, whether to move afterwards,
and how to do all of this again tomorrow without turning your life into a spreadsheet.
Your doctor handles the treatment. Percy handles the ordinary bit in
between.
Normal Range Club
Type 2 diabetes.What a pain in the arse.
Everyone knows the theory.
Eat better. Move more. Pay attention.
Then Friday night arrives.
Your mates are ordering dinner, the menu is open, and suddenly you're
doing more calculations than the bloody accountant.
What do I order?
Most apps are very good at telling you what already happened.
Percy tells you what to do next.
Ask about the menu. Snap the plate. Tell him what's in the fridge. Ask what to do after
dinner.
You get a straight answer in seconds.
No lecture. No hunting through a database. No pretending you're going to weigh a chicken
breast on a Friday night.
Percy is the deadpan little clerk living in Normal
Range Club.
He's there for the ordinary moments where all the useful advice in the world somehow stops
being useful.
Fridge open? Ask him.
Menu open? Ask him.
Already ate it? Tell him.
Ten minutes free and wondering whether moving would be useful? Ask him.
Percy looks at where you are, what you've told
him, and what you're trying to do — and gives you the next useful move.
He isn't a cheerleader.
He doesn't give your lunch a gold star.
He doesn't turn a bad Tuesday red.
He looks at the job in front of him, gives you an answer, and gets out of the way.
That's Percy. A clerk, not a lifestyle guru.
How it works
Ask it. It answers. Change one bloody thing.
1
Ask something real.
"I'm at the mamak. What do I order?"
Type it. Photograph the menu. Or snap what's already sitting in front of you.
No form first. No lesson first. No twenty-minute setup.
2
Percy gives you the answer.
Not a score. Not a red-amber-green judgement. An answer.
What looks good. What he'd change. What to put beside it. What to do next.
3
Change one bloody thing.
One. Not twelve.
Because changing twelve things on Monday is a fantastic way to be doing none of them by
Friday.
When one change starts surviving real life, Percy can help you find the next one.
That's the loop:ask → answer → act → carry on with your day.
A week with Percy
Today matters. But so does what keeps happening.
Percy isn't only there for one
dinner.
As you use NRC, your ordinary days start joining up.
What you ate. What you asked. What you actually did. The things that
keep coming back. The routines that worked. The ones that didn't survive Wednesday.
1 · Snap what you're actually eating.
2 · Percy does the counting.
3 · Get on with the rest of your day.
4 · Once a week, the week comes
back to you.
Real screen from the real app · the numbers are ours, typed into a
demonstration account — not a member's week · nothing on it is scored, ranked or coloured
Your weekly review is facts, not judgement.
No score. No percentage. No "bad week".
Just what happened.
Then Percy can help you decide what is actually worth changing
next.
Memory is there to make the next decision better — not to turn your life into
homework.
About your photo: NRC doesn't keep the meal image. It is
sent to Google's AI service to be read, then discarded by NRC. Google's handling may differ
depending on the service we use, so don't photograph anything sensitive.
How photos are handled →
What's in the app
One clerk. Nine jobs.
You shouldn't need nine apps to get
through one Tuesday.
💬 Ask Percy
Food. Movement. Tonight's dinner. Tomorrow's breakfast. "What do I do now?"
Ask normally. He answers normally.
📸 Snap the plate
Take a photo.
Percy identifies what's there, estimates the food and calories, and lets you correct
anything he got wrong.
Because AI occasionally looks at dinner and has a small breakdown.
🔢 Scan the barcode
Turn the packet around.
Percy pulls the label information from the food database and shows you what is actually
in it.
Much more useful than whatever "PROTEIN POWER" means on the front.
Label data comes from Open Food Facts, an open public database, used under
the ODbL licence.
📋 Photograph the menu
This is the one the whole thing was built for.
Menu open. People waiting.
Photograph it and Percy tells you what he'd order.
⚡ Let Percy count
Percy keeps a rough running guide for the day based on what you've told him.
You eat. He counts.
Seems a fair division of labour.
👨🍳 Chef Percy
Tell him what's in the fridge.
Get something you can actually cook, with the numbers per serving.
No mandatory chia seeds. No ceremonial Sunday meal prep. No ingredient that requires a
passport.
🏋️ Trainer Percy
Tell Percy how much time you've got and what equipment exists.
He builds the session from there.
Tell him about something you need to avoid and he remembers to steer around it until you
tell him otherwise.
📍 Nearby
"I fancy noodles."
Good.
Percy finds actual nearby places serving them and helps you work out what to order.
Not six salad bars you never wanted to visit.
Your position is rounded to a rough grid — a few hundred metres — before it
goes to any map service. What happens to your location →
📅 Journey
Your days become a week.
Your weeks become patterns.
Journey keeps the useful history so Percy doesn't have to meet you again every
morning.
No grade. No streak. No school report.
Chef and Trainer, exactly as they look on a phone · the notices you can see
on those screens are in the app, not added for this page
Your numbers
If you already take readings, keep them together.
Blood pressure. Blood sugar. Cholesterol.
Type your own readings into Records and keep them on your phone so they're easy to find
when you want them — including when you're sitting across from your doctor.
They're your entries. Percy doesn't interpret them.
Yes, there's an obvious blood-sugar joke in there.
Well spotted.
But "normal" is the bit I actually care
about.
Because this stuff has a nasty habit of taking up more space than it
was invited to.
Breakfast becomes maths.
Dinner becomes a decision tree.
Someone offers you birthday cake and suddenly a committee has convened.
You go out for noodles with your family and somehow your pancreas is guest of honour.
Can I eat this?
Should I have eaten that?
What's that going to do?
Did I mess it up?
Am I even allowed?
Normal is the fucking goal.
Food should get to be food again.
Dinner should get to be dinner.
A bad Tuesday should get to be a bad Tuesday — not evidence that you're a
terrible person.
You're not a patient twenty-four hours a day.
You're a person who happens to have this stuff to deal with.
That's the club.
Not perfect.
Not pretending anything vanished.
Just getting good enough at the ordinary decisions that you can get back to the
ordinary life around them.
The bloke behind the pickle
Why I built the little bastard.
Free pharmacy screening, 2015.
Walked in fine.
Walked out with type 2 diabetes.
Then came years of doing what I thought I was supposed to do —
running, lifting, changing food, changing everything at once — and having absolutely no
idea which bit was helping.
The advice wasn't the problem.
There was loads of advice.
The problem was Tuesday.
The fridge at 7:10pm.
The menu with four people waiting.
The office biscuits.
The week where everything went sideways and dinner became toast at half nine.
Nobody was standing there answering the stupid little question that actually decided what
happened next.
So I built the thing I wanted standing there.
Ten years of ordinary Tuesdays shaped Percy.
Not because my body is your body.
It isn't.
But because I know exactly how ridiculous it feels when a condition that already occupies
enough brain space starts asking what you're having for dinner as well.
🤦 Jason fucked this one up
I once ate a lunch I actively hated every day for a fortnight because a man on the internet
said it was optimal. Lost nothing except the will to live. If a plan makes you
miserable, it isn't a plan. It's a countdown.
Ten years of this. Still eating rice.
Pancreas dept. currently unavailable
What you're actually in for
Normal food. Eaten by a normal knackered person.
← swipe →
Fresh vegetables are lovely.
Frozen ones have the advantage of not dying slowly in your fridge while they
judge you. Both are vegetables. Only one of them gets eaten.
Took 12 minutes.
That's roughly the standard round here.
⚠ Warning: contains carbohydrates
Because it's food. Rice, bread, pasta and potatoes are all still allowed to
exist. So are you.
Sad salad of the week
Nothing here gets eaten as punishment. If a plan makes you miserable, it
isn't a plan. It's a countdown.
Prefer to read first?
The Normal Range System.
Thirty-two pages.
The stuff I worked out the slow way, written down properly.
No. I eat rice every week. I'd last about a fortnight on any plan that said otherwise, and
so would whoever wrote it. Nothing gets banned here — what changes is what's sitting next
to it.
I've got high blood pressure and cholesterol, not diabetes. Is this for me?
Yes. It's built for people carrying any of the three, and most people I know are carrying
more than one. Your doctor handles the treatment. Percy handles the ordinary bit in
between: what's for dinner, what to have with it, whether to move afterwards.
Are you a doctor?
No, and I'll never pretend to be. Neither is Percy. Your doctor runs your treatment, full
stop. Percy picks up the ordinary bit after the appointment: your doctor says less fried
food and more walking, Percy helps you actually do that on a wet Tuesday.
Do I need a CGM or any other sensor?
No. You don't need a CGM stuck to your arm before Percy becomes useful. Open it. Ask
something.
Do I have to log everything?
No. Percy knows exactly as much about you as you tell him, and nothing more. Feed him your
week and he answers like something that actually knows you. Feed him nothing all fortnight
and he still answers. Nothing chases you.
What happens to the photo of my dinner?
NRC doesn't keep the meal image. It is sent to Google's AI service to be read, then
discarded by NRC. Google's handling may differ depending on the service we use, so don't
photograph anything sensitive. How photos are handled →
Can I keep my own readings in it?
If you already take readings — blood pressure, blood sugar, cholesterol — you can type
them into Records and keep them on your phone, so they're easy to find when you want them,
including when you're sitting across from your doctor. They're your entries. Percy doesn't
interpret them.
What does it cost?
Your first 7 days are free — no card, so it can't sneakily roll into anything. After
that it's US$5 a month if you want to keep it, and you can stop whenever you like. That's
the entire pricing page.
What if I have a rubbish week?
Then you have a rubbish week. Everyone does. Nothing gets taken away and nothing goes on a
chart. We pick it up on the next ordinary day, which is the only kind of day that ever
really counts.
How do I get Percy?
Tap the button, put the app on your phone — about a minute, no app store required — and
sign in with Google. Requests are approved personally, usually the same day. Once your
access is approved, your free seven days begin. Then ask Percy something real: what's for
dinner tonight?
Right then
You've read enough advice.
You could read another article.
There are millions.
Or the next time you're staring at a menu wondering what the hell to order, you could ask
Percy.
A straight answer. In your
pocket. When it actually matters.
