"It's a desert landscape, duhr!"

So as hopefully more than a few know, last night was the end of the Fringe fireworks show which involved, for anyone with a sense of duty, a lot of alcohol, merriment and wet grass. I wasn't originally intending to go, the plan was to trekk in to slap a very good friend of mine silly out of his emotions - I would have thought with his being a boy this would never happen - and then go home for a good night's sleep and positively leap out of bed at 7am for work.
Well, none of the above happened. My boy had already been slapped silly and, after moving through the stages of grief concerning his finished relationship faster than he can justify another round to everybody present, we headed off to his family's flat to watch the fireworks with bottles of wine in hand. Unfortunately, his brother had just moved into the flat and, if I can give you one word of advice, don't wake up a nurse after a long and arduous night shift by yelling at his door to open up - they don't appreciate it, if looks could kill he would have been giving CPR within a second flat of us bursting through his door. So back we trekked to the links where my friend had to try to persuade me to sit on the grass for five minutes, and we eventually compromised by my on the plastic bags after I attempted to coerce him into sacrificing some minor comforts for me: "No, girl, you are NOT taking my clothes off to sit on."
During this time the others had arrived with the corkscrew and muffins we had cleverly forgotten and already started delving into the red. And it was a wonderful night - the radio was playing the accompanying music and giving analysis of the fireworks which I attempted to relay to everybody sitting in Bruntsfield Links, we warmed our bellies and destroyed our livers with cheap red wine and simply let the world go by - something I had genuinely forgotten how to do! Obviously, the solution was to drink until your thought process slows down or stops entirely. Then we managed to look like the poshest yobs in Edinburgh by prancing down through the meadows drinking wine out of real wine glasses yelling - an attempt at singing - Tchaikovsky to the late evening air.
Meeting up with the other half of the group was slightly awkward as there were two recently broken couples brought together by our joining that were painfully attempting to avoid each other and so I joined a long list of martyrs to aid this situation - I took on the mantle of the village idiot. Skipping down the grassmarket with a traffic cone on my head I passed two woman who said, and I quote, "Dear oh dear - students." It made my night, for sure. Next was the task to sneak my cone into the pub which involved hiding it just inside the doors to scan out the place for security/sober people and then wrap my jacket around it, cradle it, and pelt through to the back. Unfortunately, my new friend had to be left behind at the pub as I decided (slightly tipsy) that I didn't have enough money to pay for its train fare home.

Pretty much if any awkward sitation arises head for the nearest roadworks. Might not work for them but it'll sure as hell work for you.