It was raining hard and a big puddle had
formed in front of the little Irish pub.
An old man stood beside the puddle holding a stick with a string on the end and jiggled it up and down in the water.

A curious gentleman asked what he was doing.

'Fishing,' replied the old man.

'Poor old bugger' thought the gentleman,
so he invited the old man to have a drink in the pub.

Feeling he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whisky, the gentleman asked,
'And how many have you caught today?'

'You're the eighth.'