I have rarely spent an evening at English National Opera without someone's genitals being flashed in my face. Whatever the opera, nudity there is so completely de rigueur that the only shocking production ENO could now stage would be one in which everybody kept their clothes on. I suppose it is an attempt to appear relevant, the other main effort being a reliable crowbarring in of references to contemporary politics.

The other evening I saw Detlev Glanert's Caligula. I suppose if any opera should be granted the right to flash a nipple it is this one. A naked woman is on stage almost all night. But how to explain the moment when Caligula, having just announced a crazed new tax-gathering scheme, winks at the audience and says, "We're all in this together"? Some clod in my row leant over and said "somewhat relevant" to his companion. I nearly started the first opera house fight since that couple in the stalls started punching each other during Satyagraha, most likely driven to violence as much by Philip Glass's music as by each other. If ENO, or any of its audience, truly believe David Cameron is about to rape and kill us all, then they ought to say so rather than leave us to divine the fact via the medium of contemporary opera.

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