Sadly, this sage advice does little to prepare you for a music festival, one of life's magical moments where you are unlikely to have brains, shoes or motor skills.

Allow me to insert myself into the narrative here as a Seuss-like figure of wisdom - picture the body of the Grinch with the honeyed voice of Oprah - to help you prepare for all the people you'll meet when Spilt Milk takes over Commonwealth Park this Saturday.

The pre-schoolies
They've just finished school, just turned 18, and they’re in that aimless-yet-blissful period between exams, their formal and buggering off to Bali for schoolies. Spilt Milk is their test lab. Do not make eye contact and maintain a firm grip on your beverages.

The fence jumpers

These folks will appear to be having the most fun. For two reasons. If they’ve survived jumping the fence without impalement or being intercepted by a wide-eyed security guard, they will have a glow about them. A new lease on life.

But if they’ve made it over the fence, guess what? They’ve also skipped the pat-downs and the bag-checks, and all the security procedures those fat-cat ticketholders have to deal with.

So chances are they’ve made their way in with, like, a ton of substances. In which case they will also appear to have a glow about them. A slightly more flushed glow, with sweats and maybe some involuntary jaw clenching going on, but a glow nonetheless.

The onesie army
Need I elaborate. They’re not exclusive to Spilt Milk, they’re at every festival. Rain, meatball or shine they show up, inexplicably clad in a costumey onesie like it’s Comic-Con, cavorting with the confidence of someone who won’t need to peel that whole thing off in a poop-stained portaloo the minute they break the seal.

The lost dude
Thandi Phoenix? "Bloody best of the Harry Potter books." The Wombats? "Aw yeah, saw a dead one on the Monaro the other day." Peking Duk? "Oath, I know a place in Dickson that’ll do you a bonzer one." Young Monks? "Mate. I would never willingly choose to be celibate in my early years, or pretty much ever."

They only came because of their friends - but when you spot them, they will have already lost them - and their concept of the lineup is flimsy at best. These fellas can be identified by the wizard staff of VB in their hand and the deeply unhinged look in their eyes.

The ones who, sadly, never made it to Burning Man

These are the style mavens who have taken post-apocalyptic festival dressing to a new level. Think aluminium nipple pasties, full body fishnets, scuffed cowboy boots with a weathered loincloth, rustic antlers, desert goggles and a Fortnite-style parasol.

The stereo-bros
These bros are still reeling from the loss of Stereosonic. They’ve shredded, they've dehydrated and they've roided their way into the shirtless situation you are witnessing them in.

Tattoos might include the southern cross, vaguely religious insignia, a sleeve of naked women, or something tribal despite them being as white as their bleached teeth. Bonus points for third-degree sunburn.

The out-of-towners

Moving stealthily in packs, they'll be dressed slightly cuter than the locals due to the range of shops in their big city and 'same day shipping to metropolitan areas' for those cheeky last-minute online buys.

They also might have the sunkissed balayage locks and honeyed skin of an eastern ‘burbs kid and will make it extremely clear that they are ONLY in Canberra for the festival. And because their weird aunty was happy to put them and their mates up.

The self-appointed music critic

This genius isn’t going to let you enjoy a single set. Whatever you see, they’ve seen it before. If you enjoyed a gig, well guess what, the music critic is going to let you know that actually “they were way better live when I saw them two years ago".

You can also bet this social hand grenade probably only wanted to be there because of Childish Gambino and will spend the entire festival dragging their butt on the ground, wailing for what could have been.

The shoulders-for-hire
The blokes who would do anything to get close to a female, including hoisting one or three onto their traps for a 50-minute set.

The shoulder-seekers
The charmers who believe it ain’t real dancing unless you’re roosting upon another person, throwing totally chill peace signs and cursive body rolls in front of someone’s hard-earned view of the stage. They will also end up in most of next year's promo shots.

The get-a-roomers
The youths are rather amorous in public these days, which is beautiful because I believe in this world we need more love, more consensual affection, and blah blah. But combine this millennial tenacity with the ~GoOD ViBes~ of a music festival and a handful of substances, and you’ll notice a few couples who might actually be making a baby beside the portaloos.