Or as the late Tony Capstick would say,

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
That floats on high,
Along trees and river banks,
I trod upon a bloke's bare arse,
And heard a woman's voice say thanks.

Anyway, enough of the trials and tribulations of poor Justin. We need to define posh, and perhaps limericks can help us after all.

There was a young man of high station,
Found by a pious relation,
Making love in a ditch
To I won't say a bitch,
But a woman of no reputation.

(There, that's posh because posh people say someone has a reputation as a compliment. Where I come from, saying she has a reputation infers ten bob on the mantelpiece.)