The gritter lorries have been gritting for most of the winter, fortunately we have seen little snow, though there was a contained blizzard on the highest point on our way to school last week.
The resulting haze on one's windscreen is, I presume, a mix of grit and salt, mud and rain. Yesterday my washer fluid ran out as Hubby and I made our way to the Year 4 play. [A magnificent effort we later agreed, the play not the fluid.]
Hubby was driving and though he pressed and pressed the appropriate button, no obliging cleaning agent appeared and we were forced to drive as if in fog.
Later, at home, thanks in part to the play, dinner, sheep, chicks a'hatching and other duller tasks like laying fires, filling/emptying dishwasher, I forgot to top up the washer fluid and so was again visually impaired on the way to school this morning.
Having dropped off the boy, I automatically started out on my journey home. A mile or so up the road I kicked myself for not getting some top-up water at school. Instead I glanced about the car for a means of temporarily cleaning the screen. I wish I hadn't looked really, as I cannot believe how much crud there is in my car courtesy of the sproglets: I pick them up each evening and generally I have a drink, sandwich or small treat, sometimes an apple. I specifically mention the following when handing over such bounty:
'When we get home, take your rubbish out to the bin.' Clearly they hear;
'When you've finished munching, dump the remains anywhere you like!'
There will be words tonight!
Anyhoo, my eyes first lit upon a packet of wet-wipes; pretty good idea, a contender. Next I spied a bottle of Robinson's Barley Water that I had brought to the girl's netball match several weeks ago. Sheesh! I happen to know that this was more water than barley, as I'd made it up from the dregs of the squash and tap water.
Excellent, though I, Perfect.
I stopped in the next village, opposite a bus stop filled with secondary school children and, keeping the engine running, I leaned back to swoop up the bottle from the back seat. In order to facilitate a clean screen, I put the wiper blades on full speed.
I couldn't really be bothered to extract myself fully from the car, as it was slightly spitting this morning, instead I half leaned out into the triangular space made by my open door and the windscreen and poured the diluted squash onto the glass.
Within seconds I was covered in a sticky, stagnant, sweet smelling lemon juice; the manic wiper blades having lashed the Barley water from screen to face and hair. I was so shocked, I hadn't stopped pouring.
To be fair, as I hurriedly drove away, mopping at my face with my best Pashmina, the school children hadn't actually started laughing until I was back in the car.