The record your house is already generating.

Most of what a house generates arrives as email and stays there. So every home gets an address of its own. Forward the rates notice, the electricity bill, the plumber’s invoice — it becomes a record on the property, gets read like anything else you upload, and the figures come back for you to keep or throw out. Filing is forwarding. There is no second step.

You can make more than one and give them away. The council can have its own, so the rates notice arrives here at the same time it arrives with you and you never handle it twice; the insurer can have another; the property manager a third. Each is separate, so you can see what came in on which, and revoking one stops that sender without touching anybody else. A revoked address is never reissued to another household.

Bills that arrive as a page of text rather than an attachment are read too — the body of the message is treated as the document when there isn’t one attached, which is how most utilities actually send.

The address is the credential, so treat it like one: anyone who learns it can put a document into that home’s record. That is what makes handing one to the council work, and it is why the addresses are unguessable, why each one is separate, and why you can cut any of them off. Mail is scanned, and anything that fails is held back rather than filed. Nothing is ever replied to — Atty still sends no email of any kind, so a forwarded message is filed silently and you find it in the record, not in your inbox.

Register the address and Atty goes looking for the house before you’ve put anything in at all. Year built, land and floor area, bedrooms, what it last sold for and when it was last let — a building leaves most of that on the public internet, and none of it is worth your evening to go and retype.

What comes back arrives the same way a read document does: each figure with a confidence, and a link to the page it was read on, waiting for you to keep it or throw it out. Sale and rental history is shown beside the property and never written into it, because the last recorded sale may well have been the previous owner’s.

It will not always find your house, and when it isn’t sure it says so rather than guessing. Street numbers repeat, unit numbers go missing from listings, and half the country has a suburb by the same name — a record filled in confidently from the place next door is worse than an empty one, so the bar to write anything down is set high and a person still clears it. It doesn’t collect listing photographs.

You register a property by address. Underneath it sit rooms, and the systems and appliances in them — the hot water unit, the switchboard, the solar inverter — each with its model, serial, install date and warranty expiry. The termite inspection and the smoke alarm test become recurring tasks.

Atty sends no email, no push, no alert and no reminder of any kind, and a warranty expiry date is stored and displayed and never acted on. The schedule is somewhere to look, not something that comes looking for you.

Most home software is written for whoever lives there now, so when the house sells a decade of history goes quiet. Atty is put together the other way round: records hang off the property, so the history is the building’s.

Two parts of that are not built. You can’t share a home with a partner yet — the household is yours alone — and you can’t hand the record to the next owner, because transfer exists only in the service layer and has no screens at all.