A deed kept for thirty years will be read by people nobody has met yet, some of them through software that reads the page aloud. A page that only looks right gives that software nothing to go on: it reads the ink in the order it was laid down, page number and decoration included.
This deed is written to the first part of the archival standard at level A, its highest. On top of a page that keeps its looks, the file says what each piece is: this line is the heading, those blocks are paragraphs, and the rule and the page number at the foot are decoration that nothing reads aloud. As with level B, veraPDF reads this very document before any change enters the library.
Nothing is left out and nothing is simplified: this is the program exactly as it runs, for the developer who uses this library. The third is the description itself: a plain list of what the page has to say, which is what the service is sent.
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Three rulers — centimetres, inches and points — on a page that tells whatever prints it to put it out at exactly the size it was drawn, and to offer nothing else. Lay a tape measure on the printed sheet and you can check for yourself.
Two sittings bound into one file. Each page carries a record of its own — what it is, whose hand wrote it, the day it was written — the photograph on the second page carries one too, and each transcription is tied to the page it transcribes rather than to the file at large.
A records office's reference, the department it came from, the date until which the document must be kept and its classification, carried inside a file an archive still accepts. No archiving rule knows what a keep-until date is, so each entry carries a description of itself, and that description is what makes a checker accept a fact you alone invented. A second page adds a loan record whose entries are a yes or no, a type of file, a person's name, a measurement and two web addresses, and gives that page a hidden record of its own.
Every line of the note carries the order it was picked for, the article code and the shelf it came off, and prints none of them. The place where the driver signs carries the round and the van, and one beside the fold tick carries nothing but its own place.
Two pages carrying a copy of themselves that nobody sees: this is a heading, this is a table, and this is the order to read them in. Software reading the document aloud follows that instead of the order the marks were drawn in, and skips the running head. On the page, nothing looks any different.
A parts list whose first column is a picture rather than a word. Each picture carries the sentence somebody hears in its place, so nothing in the list is lost on a reader who cannot see it. On the page, the pictures are simply pictures.