Aindrias de Staic is the stuff of which legends are made. If they were casting The Wild Rover, he'd be their man. You can virtually see the thought bubbles above the heads of the young girls in the front row that read: "I wonder if my dull boyfriend drank more Guinness ... would he be like this?" He is the dark-eyed, Irish gypsy boy, all flashing teeth and flying fingers (on the neck of his violin, I hasten to add).
This year he tells wild tales of travels around the Mediterranean, through Palestine, Israel, India, Thailand and Australia. He leaps around the room recounting nights in jail, a short spell as a seaside drug dealer, selling dodgy Gucci and fiddling his way (in more ways than one) from one crock of craic to another. We sing and clap along to his fine fiddle, we thrill vicariously to his tales and we even try a little transcendental meditation at the end. De Staic is probably the most charismatic performer on the Fringe. He fiddles like an angel and lives like the devil. Take a pint of the good stuff, settle back and enjoy the craic.