I watched with bemusement as the old man sat outside O'Donnells in the pouring rain, dangling a fishing rod in a large puddle that had formed.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Fishing," replied the man.
Poor old fool, I thought, and invited the him into the pub for a drink. He accepted gratefully.
"So," I teased as we made ourselves comfortable next to a roaring fire. "How many have you caught today?"
"You're the eighth."
