I have ADHD. This means my brain is excellent at many things — hyperfocus, creative problem-solving, coming up with ideas at 2am — but keeping track of mundane details like shopping return windows? Not one of them.
A few months ago, I was sorting what books I plan to read, and found fourteen books that I’d never opened. One still had the receipt tucked inside the front cover. I checked the date and realised I’d missed the Amazon return window by five and a half weeks. Not by much — just long enough that I was now stuck with them.
That stack of unread books (still on my desk as I’m writing this) cost me £128. Not the end of the world, but it stung. Not because I couldn't afford it, but because it felt so avoidable. The receipt was right there. The window had been generous. I just... forgot.
And I realised this wasn't a one-off. The total count of books I bought is 48 since November 2025 (I’m writing this as of March 2026).
The real wake-up call wasn't the books. It was Costa.
I'd gone in to read for a couple of hours. ADHD move — I got locked into the books and lost track of time completely. By the time I looked up and walked back to my car, I'd been there well over the 4-hour limit.
UKPC wanted proof I'd actually been a customer in Costa each time. Which meant digging through old bank statements, crumpled receipts, and my phone's camera roll trying to reconstruct my coffee runs. After mentioning the disability bit to the manager they kindly let me off — but only after I'd spent the better part of a weekend playing detective with my own life.
That was the moment it made sense to me. The problem wasn't that I'd lost the receipts. The problem was that I had no system. Every receipt was just floating somewhere — pocket, bag, bin, inbox, a dog’s mouth — and I only ever needed them at the exact moment I no longer had them.
I looked at what existed and nothing fit.
Spreadsheets felt like homework (I left Sixth Form a year ago) — I'd update one once and never open it again. Calendar reminders were too easy to swipe away and forget about. Expense and budgeting apps wanted my bank login, which felt completely over the top for "remind me I can still return this book."
I wanted something boring and quiet that caught the expensive little things human brains are bad at remembering.
So I started building it.
Around the same time, a friend asked us to look after their black Labrador, Diesel. Diesel is the kind of puppy who notices everything — the post arriving, the kettle clicking off, someone reaching for their coat. He doesn't make a fuss. He just pays attention.
That's the energy I wanted the app to have. No barking. No constant pings. Just a gentle nudge when it actually matters — a return window about to close, a warranty about to lapse, money you could still get back if you act this week.
That's how Retriva got its name. "Retrieve," with a nod to the most observant dog I've met. (Bit of a stretch, but the name stuck.)
You add what you bought, when, and where from. Retriva works out your return deadline and warranty expiry based on the retailer's actual policy — not a generic guess. Then it quietly reminds you via email before anything runs out.
No retailer logins. No bank access. No data selling. Just one job, done properly.
Free covers your active purchases. If you want more — receipt scanning, unlimited active items, smarter reminders — Pro is £5.99 a month. (I can buy a Cappuccino.)
I'm not a big company. I'm one person with a MacBook, a messy desk, ADHD, and a habit of drinking coffee late at night.
I built Retriva because I needed it. If you're the kind of person who finds receipts in coat pockets six months too late, who means to return something and then life happens, or who has ever had to prove to a parking company that yes, you were genuinely in Costa — this is for you.
I’m going to get a coffee now (and use my app to scan a receipt when I buy one.)