Quiet tabs

A countdown of a thousand small good things, from the cold side of the pillow to popping bubble wrap, written daily for years.

Mahjong solitaire in a dozen layouts with no download and no account, exactly as it was on every family PC in 2004.

Straightforward pool on a proper physics table, against an opponent who punishes a lazy break immediately.

Ten sliders — rain, thunder, waves, birds, coffee — mixed on a single page with nothing else on it at all.

Waterhole cameras in southern African reserves, running since the nineties, where nothing happens for an hour and then everything does.

Enormous aerial panoramas of volcanoes, reefs and cities that you can spin around inside, shot from helicopters and drones.

A visual board for collecting images and ideas, without an algorithm deciding what you should have been collecting instead.

Community-built soundscapes of unhinged specificity, including several hundred separate takes on the Hogwarts common room.

Layer rain, wind, waves, fire and café chatter, then set each one to the level you want. Survives being left open all day.

An ambient radio station with no announcers, no adverts and nothing that ever resolves, aimed squarely at falling asleep.

Free woodworking plans with cut lists and costed materials, aimed squarely at people who own exactly one saw.

Botanical infinite zoom drifting through flowers, insects and quiet ruins. Best left running on a second screen.

Susan Miller's famously long monthly forecasts — several thousand words per sign, published without fail since 1995.

One astronomy image a day since 1995, each with a paragraph from an actual astronomer and an archive going back decades.

The AstroTwins' horoscopes and explainers, including a decent plain-English guide to what a transit actually is.

The sister site, strong on anime and historical portrait makers, with an unreasonable and very welcome number of hair options.

Minimalist colour puzzle rooms — yellow, blue, red — where every level teaches you a rule the game never states out loud.

Photo editor and collage maker aimed squarely at people who want a decent result without learning anything first.

Sculpt a glossy blob with sliders for noise, light and iridescence, then leave it rotating and admire your handiwork.

Browser Minecraft with party modes bolted on — parkour, bed wars, one-block survival — and multiplayer that joins in one click.

Where the bridge world actually plays: free tables at every hour, tournaments, and teaching rooms of remarkable patience.

Enormous plain-text library explaining what every placement and aspect is supposed to mean, unpaywalled since the early 2000s.

A breathing bubble with adjustable pace, sitting on a page that mercifully does not require the app to work.

Thirty-odd card games with competent bots, no accounts and nothing covering the table. The default answer to fancying a game.

Anime avatar makers with genuinely good line art, including versions that output something usable as a profile picture.

Long branching novels where your stats matter and the prose does not embarrass itself; a good number play free in the browser.

Google's stripped-back sketchpad — pencil, pen, marker, chalk — with pressure support and absolutely no other features.

Open-city driving with traffic and no mission attached, for when you want to obey a speed limit in peace.

A global membership devoted to looking up, with a cloud of the day and a manifesto against blue-sky thinking.

Curated stumble button that sends you somewhere good rather than somewhere random, with categories if you are feeling fussy.

Run a coffee stand for fourteen days, adjusting recipe and price daily, and learn more about margins than from any lecture.

The murmur of a café without the queue or the cost, built on research that moderate background noise helps creative work.

Hand-picked four-colour palettes posted daily and sorted by mood, with none of a generator's randomness.

An audio museum of sounds made by objects that no longer exist — dial tones, shutter clicks, the whirr of a rewinding tape.

Nest and feeder cams run by the Cornell Lab, with ornithologists in the chat explaining what the bird is doing and why it matters.

Mix rain, keyboards, seagulls and a fireplace into one soundscape, then hand the whole mix to somebody as a single link.

Ankh-Morpork rendered as a text world, with guilds, working shops and an obsessive attention to what Pratchett actually wrote.

A timer that counts how long you manage to do nothing at all. Move the mouse, press a key, or scroll and it starts again from zero.

Hundreds of dress-up games covering mythology, history and fandoms, drawn by actual artists rather than an asset pipeline.

Pixel canvas designed for thumbs first, fed by a huge stream of daily themed drawings from a mostly Japanese community.

Move the mouse and flowers, mushrooms and grass sprout underneath it while a music box plays. No tools, no undo, no point.

Draw and guess with a room code, or play solo against the clock on the evenings when nobody answers the group chat.

A directory that has been curating this genre since 2004, including a great many games nobody else bothered to archive.

Dashcam footage of a city loop with the local radio playing over it, so you can drive slowly through Istanbul while answering email.

Nature recordings from named places with coordinates attached, so you know exactly which rainforest you are sitting in.

A fantasy city builder with elves, humans and a genuine research tree, played entirely in a browser tab and unusually pretty.

One sincere, specific compliment per click, written by people rather than generated. For days that have not gone well.

Obsessive gallery of what strangers keep in their pockets, photographed from above and argued over at remarkable length.