Hip flask in bra, nuts up sleeve – let’s hear it for smuggled treats

It’s not often I approach an evening of culture with the expectation that only a large portion of neat vodka will steer me through it (although a treble Stolichnaya makes perfect sense as an accompaniment to Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk).

But, according to Stuart Murphy, chief executive of English National Opera, no musical extravaganza is safe from the abuse of Russian firewater. In a Twitter exchange, he’s revealed a number of audience members have been caught smuggling contraband vodka into the auditorium and “ruining the experience” for others. This is Murphy’s given reason for introducing a policy stating opened bottles of water can’t be taken inside the Coliseum. Instead, attendants insist they’re drained away outside.

Some might say it’s not a top notch PR move to admit opera-goers have been driven to hard liquor by the ENO’S recent shows – the current offering, Richard Strauss’ Salome, has been described by this paper’s critic as “infuriatingly baffling”, so you might need a gentle anaesthetic. Even so, cynics might suspect that insinuating opera fans go the full Millwall after a Smirnoff and Puccini is less likely as a rationale for banning water than a desire to protect bar sales. The current rate for a vodka and Fever Tree tonic at the Coliseum bar is £9.50.

But let’s face it, the ENO is hardly the only organisation to demand you surrender supermarket booty before you enter their portals. The O2 Arena won’t allow any food or drink to be brought in, but as soon as you’re past security there’s a vast array of vendors hell-bent on parting thirsting, starving families from their cash. You can’t take your own water to the viewing platform of the Shard, but when I visited there was a bar fleecing visitors for champagne. Even a trip to the movies has become like a prison visit, with bags closely examined for illicit imports. One key offender is the upmarket Everyman chain, which charges £18.25 for a “premier adult” ticket (a share of a bog-standard sofa) at its Baker Street screen and then insists you can only “consume” goodies that have been bought on the premises. At least when theatres run extortion rackets they have the grace to offer live performances.

If our leading entertainment venues go to war on nibbles and beverages, surely we should have the spirit to form a citizens’ resistance? I’ve taken to stockpiling kiddies’ Fruit Shoot bottles because they’re a) innocent b) opaque c) just about the right size for one generous measure of Cote du Rhone, or two full-strength Martinis. They’re also a handy size for pockets, or even to stuff under the waistband of your tights. Your average packet of cashews can be slipped up a shirtsleeve, along with a medium-sized Toblerone and – if you’re feeling feral – a length of chorizo sausage. My friend Christobel once squidged an entire bottle of champagne and six flutes in her handbag for a cinema outing, so we could carouse with 007.

If the frisking is exceptionally severe, I can usually wedge my mini hip flask into the plunge section of my bra. This not only means I’ll be guaranteed three measures of Scotch, it will be warmed to body temperature.

Alternatively, the bosses at the ENO and other cultural palaces could consider pricing a G&T more modestly than your average mafia ransom. If that doesn’t cue great applause, what will?