It was raining hard and a big puddle had formed in front of an 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 fool’ 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?’

‘You’re the eighth.’