Good on a phone

The seat-pocket catalogue survived the airline it came with and moved online, still selling garden yetis to a captive audience.

Grow a snake on glowing pellets and cut other players off so they burst into more of them. The .io boom started here.

Three-minute kart deathmatches with weapon crates and absolutely no patience for anything resembling a racing line.

The National Zoo's cameras on lions, elephants and naked mole rats, publicly funded and refreshingly free of any advertising.

Millions of images and 3D scans from the Smithsonian's collections, released with no copyright restrictions at all.

Giant pandas eating bamboo, live from Washington, on the webcam that periodically takes down the zoo's own servers.

Deb Perelman cooking from a famously tiny New York kitchen since 2006, testing everything obsessively and writing about it well.

An endless sheet of virtual bubble wrap that pops under the cursor and quietly refills itself behind you.

The original rumour desk, still patiently establishing whether the thing your uncle forwarded actually happened.

Two-legged football played with a single key, in which the physics engine scores most of the actual goals.

Fast three-a-side football with sliding tackles and a World Cup bracket you can win inside a tea break.

Clean solitaire collection with hints, statistics and daily challenges spread across a dozen different variants.

Daily solitaire challenges dealt from guaranteed-winnable shuffles, with a leaderboard for people who want the streak.

Klondike that loads in under a second, with nothing on the page except green baize and the cards.

Listener-funded, advert-free channels out of San Francisco, Drone Zone and Groove Salad among them, going since the dial-up era.

Grid sequencer with a marimba and a drum kit, tuned so that anything you tap sounds passable, then shared as a link.

Rule a small kingdom by answering yes or no to whoever walks through the door, then watch the consequences quietly pile up.

Ride a lift from the ground to geostationary orbit, passing every layer of atmosphere and satellite on the way.

The original film's promotional site, left online untouched for nearly thirty years and preserved when the sequel arrived.

Solar flares, sunspot counts and geomagnetic storm levels in real time, plus the aurora forecast that decides whether tonight is worth the drive.

Seven letters, one compulsory centre letter, and the long climb from Solid to Genius. Ruins mornings extremely productively.

A hundred billion dollars and a shopping list running from Big Macs to aircraft carriers, and it is harder to spend than you expect.

Hundreds of thousands of user-made timed quizzes: name every element, every country, every Friends character. The genre's warehouse.

NASA's tracker for when the space station is visible from where you live, with sighting alerts by email.

Everyone knows the location except the spy, who has to bluff through the questioning without ever revealing they have no idea.

A daily letter grid with dozens of words buried in it, plus a bonus list that runs on far longer than anyone expects.

Constructive journalism collected from other outlets into one free feed, so somebody else does all the sifting.

Public domain classics reset properly — typography fixed, typos corrected, covers designed — and then given away.

Curated collections around specific research subjects, preserved because a university decided they would matter later.

Ask a sports question in plain English and get the actual numbers back with a chart. Ends pub arguments in about four seconds.

The planetarium in a browser tab — set your location and it shows exactly what is above you right now.

Swing a stick figure between grapple points using one button, then trust momentum to carry the mistake.

An idle game that keeps buying you more stimulation until the page is a lo-fi stream, a podcast and a fidget spinner at once.

Categories under a random letter and a timer: name a country, a food and an animal starting with M, then hit stop before anyone else.

Long-form serialised fiction with a reader built for actually reading — chapter memory, no pop-ups, no interruptions.

A word search with a theme you have to deduce first, and one spangram threading corner to corner through the grid.

Gag gift shop selling the same reliable nonsense since the dot-com boom, on a layout that has aged in real time.

The endless runner that ate mobile gaming, in a browser tab with the trains, the hoverboards and the shouting guard intact.

Clean daily sudoku across five difficulties, with a notes mode that behaves the way a pencil is supposed to.

Drop fruit into a box, merge matching pairs and watch the pile creep towards the line. Physics does the rest of the work.

Good news, funny pictures and a daily dose of animals, assembled with no interest whatsoever in what is trending.

Tick off what is genuinely in your cupboards and it ranks the recipes you can make right now, with nothing missing.

Breed meat, then drones, then queens, then things with far too many legs. The exponential curve is the entire narrative.

World atlas of traditional dishes and the specific places that still make them properly. Endless, and reliably makes you hungry.

Name something you liked and it returns things with the same texture, spanning films, books, music and games at once.

A collaborative database of example sentences translated across languages, better than any dictionary for context.

Non-commercial web search indexing only pages carrying no ads or trackers at all. A very small and very different internet.

Sprint away from a large monkey along a crumbling temple path, dying at the same badly signposted corner every time.