Did I remember to fill up the washer receptacle thingy under the car bonnet doo dah before I left to drive North to Inverness? No. Did I have a windscreen as transparent as a hand knitted mohair blanket by the time I was half way up the A9, sitting in the car park of the House of Bruar? Yes. Do I now have the only car in Scotland whose windscreen is being lovingly caressed to cleanliness by the contents of the world's most expensive bottle of pure Highland Spring? Yes.