EVERYBODY, meaning residents of north London and residents of the Cotswolds, is obsessed with sex in the Cotswolds. But can it also be pleasurable in poorer areas? 

Cotswolds: missionary

We begin research with straight missionary sex in a cottage built of honey-coloured stone in a village with a dedicated jam shop, rumoured once to have been visited by Kate Moss. As you’d expect from such surroundings simultaneous orgasm was reached in six minutes, by which time house prices had risen by £1.22.

Pembrokeshire: knee-trembler

Keeping latitude low, we headed to Tenby where I gave my co-researcher one up against an 18th-century wall within sight of the lifeboat house that was once on Grand Designs. I climaxed, she didn’t, but we both agreed it was a delightful experience aside from the circling gulls.

Leicestershire: cowgirl

Venturing up the country to squalid locations that still dabble in manufacturing, she rides me in a ring-road Travelodge while I try not to be put off by the memory of the receptionists’ accent. While she manages to get there – a tribute to her indefatigability – it’s a desultory orgasm for me as I wonder why this city exists.

The Yorkshire Dales: reverse cowgirl

The howling wind outside, the relentless grimness of life for these people, and six pints of bitter mean I am unable to maintain an erection. While we are in a cottage, it is not thatched and the sky outside is low. No wonder Heathcliff and Cathy never got it on. Honestly it’s like a rubber snake.

The Cairngorms: 69

Our croft is freezing cold, undoubtedly haunted, and around it for miles no tree grows. And, like that arboreal desert, no matter how much my partner works away she is unable to coax a twitch out of it. Is it any wonder, when the nearest Soho House is 310 miles away? How can any erotic imagination sustain itself in these conditions? Also we’re both in full Gore-Tex.

Conclusion: sex is better in the Cotswolds, between consenting southerners each of whom has a solid property portfolio. It just is.