Jonny McCambridge column: Heating the house in winter – the inaccessible boiler, the big green tank and the oil delivery man

Staying true to the statistics, it is then not a surprise that my own property uses home heating oil. There is an old boiler which coughs and splutters into life around this time of year. I live in perpetual fear of the inevitable coming day when I know it will pack up and I’m faced with the exorbitant cost of having to replace it.

Another fact, which always tickles me, is that the boiler is located in a very narrow pathway between my house and the garden wall. There is not even enough room to properly open the wooden door of the tiny brick house. It was constructed long before I lived here, presumably by someone constituted of gas or liquid rather than solid matter. All of the long series of engineers who I’ve summoned to repair or service the boiler have been corpulent and grumpy gentlemen who curse bitterly at me as they struggle to gain access to its internal workings.

Then there is the large green tank in the garden. I have a distant relationship with it. There is a little clear plastic tube attached which, in years past, revealed how much oil was contained within.

It has long since stopped working. Now, trapped in a state of eternal pessimism, it always claims the tank to be empty.

This causes some problems when it comes to knowing when it’s time for a refill. As I said, I tend to stay away from the tank. I have been known to remove the lid and peer inside, but this reveals nothing more than eternal blackness.

I’ve tried dipping a long broom shaft into the chasm, but I never seem to be able to secure an accurate reading.

I don’t want to run out of oil during the harsh winter months. I know this causes technical difficulties in that turning on the heating when there is no kerosene in the tank will ‘airlock’ the system.

It is beyond my wit to resolve this. Fortunately, I have a friend who is wiser in the ways of the world than me and comes around to drain the system when required.

Unfortunately, I’m not a very good friend and the only time I contact him is for exactly this reason (or if I have another DIY task which needs to be undertaken). I’m aware of the imbalance in the relationship.

The last time I called him it went something like this:

Me: Hi there, how ya doing buddy?

Him: You’ve airlocked the heating system then?

Me: I’ve been baking biscuits!

Him: And you’ve airlocked the system?

Me: Chocolate biscuits!

Him: (Deep sigh) I’ll get my tools.

Eager not to strain the stretched strands of this friendship even further, I have since been keen to try and avoid running out of oil. I aim to keep the tank topped up every few months.

However, over the summer months, as the heating hasn’t been much used, I’ve rather lost track of things. I can’t remember if I topped the tank up in spring. This leaves me in the rather difficult position of not knowing – a) if the tank is full; b if the tank is empty; c) if the tank is at any particular state between a) and b).

I decide it is better to be cautious and proceed to order some oil. I know that many people put a lot of thought and energy into this process, carefully selecting the time and the company to provide the best value in an ever-fluctuating market. Some journalists write long articles about this sort of thing. I adopt a less studied approach.

I phone the same company and speak to the same wee man that I do on every occasion. He takes my details and I order a full tank. He hesitates for a moment, as if reading something. “Are you sure you need this much oil Mr McCambridge?”

I start to imagine that he’s got a photograph of me stuck onto his computer screen with a post-it note attached stating “Beware – fool!”

Later in the day I am working on my laptop in the kitchen when I am scared half to death by a knock on the window. It is the oil delivery man, wearing overalls. I had forgotten that I left the back gate open for him to gain access. He summons me outside and I unlock the tank. I go back inside, but moments later there is another knock on the window and I am called outside once again.

“You ordered a tank of oil then?” he enquires.

“Yes,” I respond, rather confused as I thought this fact had previously been established.

“But your tank is already close to full.”

“Oh,” I respond impressively as he watches me archly.

He goes on.

“I’d say she (she being the tank) will take no more than 200 litres.”

I am intrigued by how exact his calculations are. It must be some acquired wisdom from his years in the trade, some expertise learned from repetition and experience. I am impressed. How can he see what I cannot see? I want to know if I can also learn this technique.

“How do you know it will take 200 litres?” I ask keenly.

He leans over the open lid of the tank. Then he makes an unpleasant guttural sound as he clears his throat and proceeds to spit into my oil tank. There is the faintest chink of a splashing sound.

“Aye, maybe 225.”

“Oh," I say again.