It was raining buckets and a large puddle had formed in front of a pub in Glasgow. An old man, in a ragged kilt was there, in the rain, with a rod and a line floating in the puddle.
Touched by the sadness of the scene, a passerby approached and asked what he was doing:
"I'm fishing." replied the old-timer.
"Poor old guy" thought the stranger who decided to invite him inside to dry out in the warmth of the pub with a scotch.
As they were quietly drinking their scotches, the stranger decided to play along with the old-timer and asked: "How many have you caught this morning?"
"You are the eighth." replied the old-timer with a shy grin.
