Posh boys might be having a moment but I’d always pick a white van man – they’re way better in bed
POSH boys, it seems, are having their sex god moment again.
Jilly Cooper, the queen of saucy romp fests, published Tackle! earlier this month.
As usual it features sex-mad toffs with hyphenated names who live in homes with names instead of numbers.
Meanwhile new film Saltburn, directed by and starring The Crown’s Emerald Fennell, sees beautiful, entitled aristocrats indulging in a hot-and-heavy summer at the family estate.
The world seems to assume us Brits obsess with the upper class. Plummy actors dominate red carpets.
There are fan sites dedicated to poshos like Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hiddleston or Eddie Redmayne.
READ MORE SEX NEWS
But wouldn’t you rather date Idris Elba, James McAvoy or Martin Compston, all of whom have working-class roots?
I have no doubt they would be far more interesting.
I read last week that Tom Hardy sent mums into melt-down when it was announced he was returning to CBeebies Bedtime Stories — he went to public school but seems less posh than most Brit film stars.
Sadly, the TV giants and authors haven’t got the message.
Most read in Fabulous
Ofcom recently reported that working-class viewers were switching off from the BBC as it is out of touch — the working class portrayed in “extreme stereotypes”.
As someone who has dated upper and working-class blokes, I say just don’t bother with the former.
It’s the latter who you should settle down with.
Evidence backs this up. In a survey by insurance firm Aviva, those in white vans were found to be the smartest, sexiest and most successful drivers.
Selfish and rude
In an online Reddit debate about dating a skilled trader or a professional, most women preferred the former.
One wrote: “A man that can fix st is super-attractive . . . [more than] some guy that calls another guy to fix it.”
Hear, hear.
Another wrote: “Plumber’s Mrs here, and he’s lush. My ex was a business development engineer, a bit of a pretentious ae.”
I’m not surprised.
As a working-class woman from Birmingham, I have benefited from the social fluidity that working in media can give you when female and easy on the eye.
At 18, when I started at university, I was a posh-boy “virgin”.
But I soon discovered their exes would be somewhere on the scene, as they’re often a cousin five times removed.
And that posh boys usually swing both ways — seeing one fling snogged by another guy is an image still in my mind today.
Oh, and those houses!
There are the enormous dining rooms, Agas and outdoor pools — it’s another world.
But they are often freezing cold because they cost a fortune to heat, and your bloke’s bedroom will be decorated in a theme more fitting for a six-year-old — such guys never grow up.
The etiquette if dating these men is extraordinary — pack walking boots, never mix up wines, act nonchalant if intro-duced to your boyfriend’s dad’s mistress (perfectly acceptable).
But are the manners recipro-cated?
Generally, no. While they may seem charming on the surface, a poll found Range Rover drivers the most selfish and rude on the road — most likely to hog the middle lane.
Despite many of them getting driving licences young and roaring around the country in the family 4x4, when it comes to mingling with real road users, they are clueless.
When dropping me off at home one time, the father of an ex found it alarming that everyone parked their cars on the “public road” rather than a private drive.
But what we all really want to know is this: Is the sex with these toffs really any better?
Reading Jilly Cooper’s novels, you would assume it’s a yes.
And it’s true, there is a sense of entitlement that is bred into fellas who get told at odd-sounding places like “prep school” that they are a Master of the Universe.
But guess what, despite them being educated to the highest standard, their skills in the bedroom can often be somewhat lacking.
To be honest — sorry, Boris, David Cameron and your ilk, I know you’re my gen-eration but you lot have far, far too many hang-ups.
While money affords you privilege, what it doesn’t give you is a sound emotional upbringing.
Working-class blokes may not always look the part — I’ve gone out with guys who when asked to dress to impress will put on their freshly washed footie top — and they may not wine and dine you at the Ritz (local pub followed by a fishfinger sarnie round theirs is more likely). But their confidence speaks volumes.
And their attentiveness is second to none.
Dates I have had with down-to-earth blokes include a trip to a zoo — nothing says kind and thoughtful more than a visit to see your favourite animal (elephant, in case you are wonder- ing).
And there was the guy who never minded walking me home after an evening at his place.
I have always been fascinated by the night stars and he would indulge me — familiarising him-self with everything from Orion’s Belt to the Big Dipper constellation.
Then he would walk back home in buttock-clenchingly cold temp-eratures.
Oh, and nothing beats being met at the airport by your fella in his white van.
Yes, I had to move drill bits and screws from under my bum but, reader, I married him.
That’s why, as easy as it is to pull a posh bloke, the keepers are the fabulously ordinary guys who will watch Bridget Jones and The Holiday with you for the gazillionth time.
They are the blokes who understand women.
They know, when we say we don’t want fries with our meal, that what we really mean is we do — or to take half of theirs.
So, Jilly, you can keep your rutting, strutting Rupert Campbell-Black — the handsome, racehorse-owning protagonist of her new bonk-buster.
Emerald, your aristo-cratic Felix can do one too.
The real heartthrobs are comprehensive-educated men.
They know how to change your tyre, where the fuse box is and what to do if Netflix stalls at 25 per cent.
READ MORE SUN STORIES
Better still, they are as game with our Rampant Rabbits as with getting the fairylights working at Christmas.
And what could be sexier?
