YEARS ago, there was a comedy series called Three of a Kind starring newcomers Lenny Henry, David Copperfield (whatever happened to him?) and Tracy Ullman.

The talented Ms Ullman played the then newly-minted stereotype of a long blonde-haired, head-tossing Sloane Ranger, whose catchphrase was: "OK, yah."

To my utter astonishment, the pupils at the Tyneside school where I taught thought I was a dead-ringer for this character. In particular, my voice caused great hilarity: "Because you talk dead posh, like, Miss."

Coming from Haydock and attending a venerable university down south, being branded as "posh" was an entirely new experience for me.

Yet, in spite of the blurring of class boundaries, in this technological age the way our voices sound remain as important as ever.

The Tory shadow chancellor, George Osborne, is the latest public figure revealed as having turned to a voice coach to make him sound more acceptable to voters.

Most famously, this ruse was used in the 1970s, when it was felt that Margaret Thatcher's winning way could easily be scuppered by her shrill, hectoring tones.

Out went the voice that could drill through concrete and in came the deeper, resonant measured tones.

But whereas the Thatcher timbre was middle class, Osborne and his colleagues flip back to the elite's age-old problem in a democracy: they sound too posh.

While there's probably nothing that can be done with London Mayor Boris Johnson's plumminess, experts say Osborne's voice is more controlled, relaxed and conversational. The former nasal squeakiness and strangulated vowels of the upper classes now only emerge when he gets excited.

In an increasingly bland age, however, there is still plenty of variety in voices to get on our wicks, which could do with a little coaching. David Beckham's squeaky tones were described in the US press as being like "wind chimes that twinkle constantly in the background".

Football's golden boy suffered the indignity of being voted as having Britain's most hated celebrity accent.

Disgraced BBC presenter Jonathan Ross has lost a lot over the last few weeks, but what can't be taken away is his inability to pronounce the letter "R".

Or can it? The speech pattern, called a labiodental approximant, can be corrected through coaching. His bad manners and lack of judgment are another matter.

Tony Blair shunned voice coaching, although he went to Scotland's poshest school, Fettes, in Edinburgh.

He settled for another traditional ploy when posh kids find themselves at state schools (or, in his case, running the country), modifying his voice into estuary English.

Foreign Secretary David Miliband is also a fan of this technique, dropping Ts from word endings and introducing glottal-stops as if he was auditioning for EastEnders.

Curiously, like Boris, Tory leader David Cameron gets away with sounding posher than Osborne, as many feel they both convey humour, authority and confidence.

Which just goes to show, beauty is in the eardrum of the beholder.