tales of the salad disaster

So I am going to a housegroup social tonight...

It will be mostly spent mingling with people twice, maybe three times my age, whose children are either young enough to be my students, or old enough to be my parents. We will sit about chatting and eating and sharing tales of our past week or day, perhaps play a game or two, and generally enjoy each other's company.


We have each been asked to bring something to share. My initial plan was to create some delicious biscuity goodies - then I realised I had no means of making said goodies, as my goodie-making-cupboard is a little understocked.


So then my second plan was to buy a large dollop of indulgence and take that to share, in the secret knowledge that I don't really like boughten puddingy indulgences, so I could painlessly come across as selfless, kind-hearted and as if I occasionally watch what I eat (I am known for having no qualms when it comes to delicious indulgences. Particularly biscuits. Particularly bourbons... mm...).


BUT! Alas, I could not (slash did not) make it to any sort of supermarket in time.

So, I decided to look in my fridge and see what there was...


What I have fashioned is a bacon, black olive and roasted red and yellow pepper spinach salad. I am going to drizzle it with olive oil and sprinkle liberally with dried herbs, just because having a few specks on salad for some reason makes it look more delicious.




Or this is what I hoped to do.




Instead, I have 6 slices of cold bacon, a bag of soggy spinach leaves and a tray of shrivelled charcoal maggots that were once a vibrant red and yellow and have become a sad shadow of their former selves.







I'm off to salvage what I can...