Serves 2

Serves 2

It's cheap, it's healthy – and it's perfect for any home cook with a bit of inventiveness. All you need to do, says Bill Granger, is get your hands on some cabbage.

San Diego Museum of Art

It's a tricky task that the Australian comedian Sam Simmons has set himself – showing the lighter side of suicide. He's prepared for failure, of course, that's what brought him to the point of despair in the first place.

It falls to the journalist to investigate many things: the inner whirrings of the world economy, the ebb and flow of political fortunes, and even the whys and wherefores of the Government's health policy. By the time you get to this end of the paper, however, these matters have been dealt with, and so it falls to me to tackle the issue that other writers have so adroitly avoided: The Great Exploding Watermelon Mystery.

It is good to hear that the Adonis blue and white admiral are doing so well this year. No, they are not failed Eurovision bands that have gone on to better things. They are scarce types of butterfly that have increased markedly in numbers recently, partly as a result of this year's warm, dry spring.

Here's an unsettling Venn diagram. One circle encloses the set of foetuses that may, within the current law, be terminated. The other circle encloses the set of premature babies that, within current technology, can successfully be kept alive. And in the intersection – somewhere between week 23 and week 24 of a pregnancy – lie those babies that qualify both as abortable and savable – the subject of Adam Wishart's challenging film 23 Week Babies: the Price of Life. Until relatively recently this intersection didn't exist at all, since doctors weren't able to keep such early births alive. And even now the overlap is very small indeed: only nine out every 100 such births survive to leave hospital and of those another six will be moderately or severely disabled. What doctors have been getting better at, it seems, is stretching out the process for those that eventually die. Where it used to happen in a matter of days, they can now be in intensive care for weeks before the end finally comes.

For some reason I am always ridiculously tired at the end of a year – and psychologically I have a renewed sense of energy and excitement at the beginning of the new one. I don't really know why that should be the case, because it is really only one day that melts into another – yet I feel it is a cause to celebrate.