The DB9 is a visual feast both inside and out. Just the name Aston Martin reeks of style, passion and sophistication. Yet like my redhead, or any Maserati for that matter, the flaws are hidden deep under the skin.
Have I enjoyed driving a car more than the DB9 this year? Probably not but don’t be fooled into thinking this is the ultimate supercar. It isn’t.
Suspect brakes, limited legroom in the cabin, door handles that disappear in the dark and a tiny boot – shall I go on?
Perhaps none of these on their own are enough to dissuade a potential buyer but after a week in the Aston, my dream car had become a little scarred around the edges…