This winter is considerably colder than last, and my heating-oil tank is getting empty at a clip. I have been watching the indicator on top of the tank ever more carefully for about a month now. As the end-of-the-year holidays are not the best period to get oil, a few weeks ago I decided to order another ton of the stuff early in the new year. I cannot get more than that at any one time because the trailer of Gianni Benčić’s tractor can accommodate a plastic container of exactly one ton. Actually, it could carry two such containers, but the risk of something going wrong would be so much higher. According to Gianni, the risk is high enough already.

This time around I also needed a new plastic hose. The old one became so stiff and kinky that it had to be tossed away. In search of the hose, I went to a hardware shop in the foothills of Motovun last week, but I could not find Edo, Gianni’s brother, who is most experienced there. I needed him to make sure that I bought the right kind of hose. The first time I went to the shop, Edo was at a funeral. The second time I did find him, and he promised to cut a small piece of the most promising hose size, which had to be checked against the spout on Gianni’s container. The third time I found him again, but he told me that he had forgotten about this chore. The holidays, he explained. I went again to the shop this morning, but I was told that Edo was home on sick leave. A short while later I indeed found him at home. Gianni was with him, too. Edo told me that the hose was just right, and Gianni offered to take me back to the shop in his car. A quarter of an hour later, this part of the job was finally accomplished.

When I asked Gianni when he could help me with the oil delivery, he said that next week would be quite bad. He could not be sure about it, for he had not heard anything definite yet, but he expected to be very busy with a building project in the hotel. They are building a swimming pool there, and there will be quite a bit of stuff to cart both up and down the hill. He would be at it all day long for at least a couple of weeks, he told me. The best time for him would be tomorrow, the first day of the weekend.

As soon as I returned home, I called the gas station close to Novigrad from which I have been buying heating oil the last few years. Their truck comes to the parking lot in front of the cemetery, where Gianni waits with his tractor and trailer. Tomorrow around noon was fine with them, but I should still call in the morning to make sure. One never knows about such things, I was told. If a bigger delivery would suddenly pop up somewhere else, they would have to attend to it first. One ton of oil is too little to commit to it outright. At any rate, I called Gianni to tell him about the good news. He was not at home, though, and I was told to call him later. A while later I called again, but got Edo on the phone, instead. He promised to pass everything to Gianni when he returns home. By the way, Gianni does not have a mobile phone, and it is always a bit of a trouble to find him.

All this accomplished, I went to the only automatic teller machine in town. It is on the lower square, so that both locals and tourists can use it. The machine was out of order, however. I called the toll-free number pasted on the machine, and I was promised that it would be fixed very soon, maybe even right away. To my great surprise, it was indeed fixed within no longer than an hour, and I managed to get the money for heating oil tomorrow. Feeling almost jubilant, I told everyone I met how lucky I just got. The machine has been quirky as of late, and everyone I talked with shared my enthusiasm. A pretty good portent for tomorrow, too.

Boring? Of course all this is boring. It is the most boring story I have ever heard, as a matter of fact. Only imagine going through all this two or three times a year. Every year. Year after year. And this is only the heating-oil story. There are many others. Hundreds of them. And all are equally boring. In fact, Motovun is the very capital of boring stories of every imaginable kind. But keep your fingers crossed around noon tomorrow, for this story could easily get even more boring by then.