Project Petrolhead

Right, I’m going to be talking about an Aston Martin today and, being a British man, I will probably feel the temptation to draw allusions to a certain fictional secret agent. As such, I’ve decided to get it out of my system at the start. Here we go…

Cast your Goldeneye over this! The Aston Martin DB9 is the perfect car for anyone with a Licence to Kill or anyone working On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. The 5.9 litre V12 makes enough power to scare The Living Daylights out of you! There’s a plush ride and a beautifully trimmed cabin, so whether you’re driving to Skyfall or Casino Royale, you can always find a Quantum of Solace (whatever that means). Modern tech straight from Q means you can deploy the Sat Nav screen (for when you need A View to A Kill) or hide it away again (to keep it For Your Eyes Only). This really is the perfect car for The Spy Who… Err… You get the idea.

Ok, now that’s out of the way.

I seem to have written myself into a bit of a corner. Not with the terrible Bond puns, but with my choice of car. Not to brag, but at the age of 25, I found myself in a stylish 2-door coupe with a fantastic engine that works as a sports car just as perfectly as it does as a grand tourer. This may not sound like a problem to a normal person, but to a petrolhead, it presents a startling issue. Where do I go from here?

As someone afflicted with an enthusiasm for cars, I often find myself thinking ahead to the next one. Whether it’s a terrible Alfa or a financially irresponsible BMW, I am always on the lookout for my next victim. With the Jaguar XK however, what would constitute a suitable upgrade? A Porsche 911 is looking unlikely as the 993 and 997 generations are now becoming collectable, meaning all I am left with is the 996, which has a reputation for stopping. The Audi R8 is just a bit too impractical for my purposes and basically all Ferraris are all well out of my league. Step forward, the Aston Martin DB9.

Like the XK, the DB9 was designed by Ian Callum (although most people attribute the DB9 to Henrik Fisker’s pencil, Callum disputes this), which is why they so clearly share a silhouette, with the DB9 just about edging out the Jag in terms of looks. Unlike the XK, with it’s common-or-garden V8, the Aston gets by with a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested V12 pushing 450bhp to the wheels, 140bhp more than the Jag. The only thing that could put me off at this point is price, but with DB9s now just about dipping below the £20,000 mark, they are becoming more and more tempting. As if any further justification were needed, the 5.9 litre, 17mpg V12 is ULEZ exempt. Simply baffling.

The thought of cruising down the Amalfi coast with the baritone burble of a V12 over your shoulder and a pair or enamel wings adorning the steering wheel in front of you is, for me, the stuff of dreams. Even if the reality of ownership may be much less glamourous (think breakdown cover, wet roads and West Midlands farmland) I still find myself drawn to that car is such a way that I can overlook any and all of its flaws. Will I bite the bullet and sell the Jag? Will the cost of running a V12 leave me destitute? Will the weird spot on my lower back go away? The answer to all of these is “only time will tell”, but whatever happens, I would love to tick “Own an Aston Martin” off my bucket list because, as we know, You Only Live Twice… Once… Bugger.

Thunderball.