Part of our guide to private carers.
James Bowdler
2 September, 2026
2 min read
The most useful screening step is not the meeting. It is the phone call before it. And the most expensive thing families do is book a whole day as a trial, which buys almost no extra information and can cost the person receiving care a great deal of dignity. Families tell our team the same thing all year: keep the first contact small, watch rather than interview, and pay for anything that is real work.
Most families go straight from a shortlist to a visit. Twenty minutes on the phone first will save you both an afternoon.
A call settles what ends most matches anyway. Can they get to you, and how, on a wet Tuesday in February. Do they drive, and will they. What hours can they commit to, not in principle but in the weeks you need covered. What they charge. Whether they have done this kind of care before, and what happened.
It also keeps you in control of what you have handed over. One mother, running a relentless hospital schedule for her son on her own, told our team she will not give anyone her son’s number until she has spoken to them and watched them work. “It’s difficult to give strangers somebody’s number,” she said. Her sequence, call first, then observe, then introduce, is the one we would suggest to almost anybody.
Who rings you at all is decided earlier than you think. The way a job is written filters the applicants before you read a single profile, which is the subject of how a job post decides who applies.
A first meeting works best on neutral ground, in public, with a natural end. A coffee. Forty minutes. No forms. One woman who had just started looking for help for her husband, whose mobility changes from one day to the next, settled on exactly that, and made her decision afterwards with nobody standing in her hallway waiting for an answer.
Sometimes the person needing care should be there but their home should not be, not yet. A daughter arranging care for her mother in sheltered accommodation booked the building’s communal sitting room and met candidates there, with her mother beside her.
“They don’t have to know where my mum actually lives, but they can come out and see her environment, and she can say to me, I like this one.”
Her mother met everyone. Her mother approved someone. Nobody learned which front door was hers. That protects what families most often forget to protect, the right of the person receiving care to choose, and there is more in our guide to privacy and dignity at home. If the harder problem is persuading a parent to agree to any meeting at all, start with the cup of tea visit.
The clearest case against the long trial came from a man arranging live-in care for a relative with a brain injury.
The trial had been booked as a full day. Partway through it the carer objected to a household rule about infection precautions that the family had kept for years, and withdrew. That happens, and not every match works. But a full day of care is not a conversation. It includes washing, dressing and the bathroom. His relative had been helped through all of it by somebody who was gone by the evening and never came back. The information gained was close to nothing, and the cost fell on the person with least say in the arrangement.
He said something else worth carrying into any meeting:
“Because of his intelligence, a lot of people miss the fact that he has had a brain injury.”
A carer meeting an articulate, quick, funny person often underestimates the job, then finds the gap in the middle of it. A short shift shadowed by someone who already knows him would have surfaced the household’s rules, and the carer’s willingness to work within them, inside the first hour. That is what our team now arranges instead.
Compare it with a near miss that cost nobody anything. A woman whose condition requires her to conserve energy and avoid overstimulation had a short introductory visit with a carer whose background was in mental health support. Only afterwards did she realise the carer’s warm, keep-you-busy style was the opposite of what her body can tolerate. Nothing had been committed, so nothing had to be undone.
“It’s good that you can have this meeting, because with an agency you just wouldn’t know, would you? You’d be falling in at the deep end.”
If you want to see somebody work, book two or three hours alongside whoever does the care now: you, another family member, or the existing carer. Then watch. Most of what you are looking for is not technical:
The third one is where the good ones separate themselves. A member of our team who spent years as a carer explained the logic of standing close to a client who worried it would feel like being watched:
“Rather let them be close enough to catch him should he go than not in the room and he hits the deck.”
And on whether that treats a proud man as helpless: “It’s not letting him down. It’s just that’s the name of the game.”
Pay the shift at the normal rate. In 2026, self-employed carers typically charge £18 to £25 an hour, so two hours is a small sum against a decision you may live with for a year. Introductory meetings arranged through the platform are free, but a working shift is work, and an unpaid audition only produces a performance.
By this stage the paperwork should be behind you. PrimeCarers checks carers’ identity, right to work and DBS documents, and carers complete our onboarding, but a checked document tells you who somebody is, not whether they can do this job for this person. Work booked through PrimeCarers is covered by PrimeCarers’ insurance, while work arranged privately outside the platform is not, so a carer needs their own public liability cover for that.
PrimeCarers is an introductory platform and does not provide, manage, supervise or clinically assess care. Clients remain responsible for checking carer documentation, interviewing carers, checking suitability for their specific needs, and agreeing the scope of care directly with the carer.
More on what a qualification proves in the certificate says yes, can they actually do it, and on background checks for private carers.
Families rarely expect this: the carer is deciding about you at the same time.
A carer told our team about a colleague whose vetting video call with a prospective client ran to three hours. She turned the job down at the end of it. “Do I even want to go there now? No.”
Good carers usually have more than one enquiry open, and they read the same signals you do. Is the household honest about the job? Are the nights described accurately? Are the breaks real? One live-in carer told us she had gone nearly three weeks without proper sleep after her client came home from hospital needing attention all night. Nobody had lied to her. Nobody had told her, either.
So describe the job as it is. Say the nights are broken if they are. Say there is a rule you will not bend on, before the trial rather than during it. Say if the person is repetitive, or resistant, or blunt with strangers; one daughter feared her father’s old-fashioned remarks would derail the meeting, and experienced carers are far less easily shocked than the families apologising in advance. A carer who takes a job with clear eyes is the one still there in six months.
A daughter preparing to meet a carer for her mother, who has dementia, told our team she deliberately does not run a formal interview. She wants to observe, not to grade.
“She’ll often see two people where there’s only one, and that second person is not a nice person.”
Her mother needs constant gentle reassurance that nobody is in the house who should not be, then the same reassurance again minutes later. “She can go on repeat, believe me. Thirty times and counting, and that’s no exaggeration.” No question tests whether someone can give that answer for the thirtieth time as kindly as the first. You watch it happen, or you do not know.
She made one more useful point: some profile write-ups read as though a machine wrote them, which makes personality hard to judge from text. Another family described the site more fondly as “a bit like a dating profile”. Treat the written profile as a filter and the reviews as the real signal, especially recent ones, and especially those describing what somebody was like when things were hard. A daughter choosing between two live-in candidates described her favourite like this:
“She goes in, she gets stuck in, and then she just becomes part of the furniture, and she’s just so good.”
Ask about cover while you are there. What happens if she is ill, or has a family emergency? Our team has arranged a replacement at short notice for a live-in carer who broke her arm mid placement. Knowing how cover works beats a promise that it will never be needed, and it helps to know that almost nobody’s first choice is their last: what families learn by the third carer is that fit is discovered, not predicted.
Tell them within a day. Give one honest reason, kindly worded. Pay for any shift they worked. Do not go quiet: carers talk to each other, and a household with a reputation for silence gets fewer applicants next time.
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Hire a carer directly, without an agency. What it costs, what a carer does day to day, and how to hire one directly.
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James Bowdler
Author