‘This is a bit more like it,’ I thought, as I shuffled the impeccably tailored, perfectly contoured and supply cushioned Rosamond derriere into the similarly specified (albeit slightly more leathery) embrace of my new Aston Martin’s driving seat.

I allowed an all-too-rare moment of self-indulgence to  continue while inhaling the heady scent of premium-grade hide that swathed the cabin: ‘It may have taken years of slog and selfless toil to get me to the top of the game,’ I mused, ‘but all that effort and industry is paying off at last!’

‘Yep’, I decided (as I caressed the hand-finished stitching on the steering wheel), ‘it’s time to start reaping the rewards of my success. Kick back a little, get some of those lazy b******* under me to take on more of the hard graft...’

I’m not sure how you spell the noise a record-player makes when the needle is dragged unceremoniously over the vinyl, but you probably know the one I mean. It interrupted my blissful reverie as Aston Martin’s press officer Kim Palmer pulled open the passenger door and jumped into the seat beside me. A charming fellow for sure, if not quite the vision of loveliness a chap might hope for as the ideal front seat passenger in a DB9…

Kim, it transpired, was intent mainly on making sure that PistonHeads returned his fine motor car post-Le Mans still gleaming in its lustrous Hardly Green livery. (Apparently Aston boss Dr Bez has decided that its paint colours should have more evocative names.)

‘It’s the Touchtronic model’, said Kim brightly, ‘so it’s not really good for doing burn-outs and that sort of thing.’

I nodded sagely.

‘You can use the paddles to change gear if you want to, but it’s easiest just to leave it in Drive for a long trip like the one you’ll be doing,’ he said, indicating the required button on the glossy piano black fascia.

I nodded sagely again, and wondered if he was going to point out the large Traction Control and Sport buttons which nestled (not quite) discreetly at the base of the centre console.

Following my gaze, and with a barely palpable pause, Kim breezed into a casual acknowledgment of the devices’ existence. ‘You have to push and hold the button for 8 seconds to disengage it,’ he explained, ‘but I wouldn’t really recommend it!’ Once again nodding sagely seemed again to be the only appropriate response, and a moment of thoughtful silence reigned in the cabin. But the silence needed filling, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out a question I had promised the team at base camp I wouldn’t ask:

‘Er…, so would you mind very much if we put a few PistonHeads stickers on it..?’

If it’s possible to have ‘Ferris Bueller’ moments in one’s early 40s, this was looking like one of them. I’d scored the keys (actually a stylish and weighty electronic widget called an Emotion Control Unit that becomes a starter button when you push it into a hole in the dash) to a beautiful and barely run-in DB9. I had a full tank of gas, a road trip ahead, and Kim hadn’t actually said ‘no’ about the stickers. Well, not ‘no’ exactly… but my first Aston experience in many a year wasn’t a moment to be hamstrung by negative thoughts, so I shoved the ECU in its slot and thrust it home to make the 6.0-litre V12 burst into life, selected D for ‘discreet’ and sneaked tippy-toed out of Aston’s car park. The guards at the gatehouse seemed happy with my official papers; the 2009 PH Le Mans odyssey was on.

We’d asked Kim if he’d mind loaning PH a press car for our trip, as Aston Martin Racing’s return to Le Mans this year seemed as good an excuse as we’d ever have to sample one of the world’s finest GT cars in the role for which it was conceived – a high-speed continental jaunt, with just enough luggage for a weekend away on a grubby airfield campsite near some overly-popular French lavatories… well, perhaps not the last bit, but you get the idea.

I realised just what a fabulous bolide we’d chosen for our annual jaunt from the first tentative application of power while exiting the mini-roundabout outside Aston’s HQ. When the mellifluous yowl of the 6.0 V12 sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, I knew this was likely to be a torrid and lustful few days. A couple of miles later as I mashed the throttle and accelerated down the M40 slip-road, with the V12 sounding something like an F1 car tearing a taffeta ball-gown off an innocent young debutante, there was no denying it – for five days at Le Mans, this car and I would boast more raw pulling-power than Troy Queef on a stag weekend. ‘France,’ I thought, ‘enfermez vos filles!’

But the Aston will do that to you because, truthfully, it’s hard to overstate just how fabulous the Aston V12 sounds on-song. There’s a gadget in the exhaust system that opens under load, so even at low speeds around town or loafing on the open road there’s a wonderfully musical soundtrack – albeit sufficiently muted so as not to diminish the DB9’s ability as a supremely relaxed cruiser. Start to explore the car’s mighty performance, however, and the howling, yowling exhaust delivers a harder-edged, more urgent and utterly intoxicating symphony of noise. Should you be so irresponsible as to briefly bounce the rev-counter off its limiter in neutral while parked (inside the metal sound stage of a cross-channel ferry, for instance), the spine-tingling, banshee wail of the engine is enough to make children cry and old ladies wet themselves. It is a truly glorious sound.

The sight of a DB9 is pretty wondrous too, certainly judging by the attention the TeamPH car attracted whenever we stopped. It may have had something to do with the (ahem!) discreet PH stickering job, but I suspect that the rarity and beauty of the car was really at play. It’s not only the exquisitely designed and perfectly executed aluminium body that tugs at enthusiast heart strings, the interior is a delight too. As with all Astons, the cabin is entirely hand-built, and it comes with an ambience of craftsmanship and opulence that adds a delightful extra layer of tactile sensuality to driving the car.

And ‘drive’, by jingo, it does. Unsurprisingly, 470bhp and a 267bhp per tonne power-to-weight ratio delivers ample performance to match the looks with a 0-60mph time of 4.6secs and a 190mph maximum speed. More impressive is the way the power is delivered, in an express train-like surge from 1500rpm all the way up to 6000rpm, where the engine is making all of its 470bhp. (Peak torque of 442lb ft is reached at 5000rpm, but you get 80 percent of it from around 2000rpm.)

Throw in a paddle-shifted six-speed ZF automatic gearbox that allows you to flip through the ratios almost as swiftly as a double-clutch job but with a silky smoothness that more than makes up for any lost milliseconds, and you’ve got a set-up that could easily be described as the perfect Grand Touring powertrain. With the Sport button selected, the ’box hangs onto gears longer, eliminates shifts in fast corners where the car could be unsettled, kicks down more vigorously, and generally works well enough to make the paddles redundant for all but the most committed. Most often I used the manual shift simply to keep the car in a lower gear for longer than necessary - purely to hear the engine howl!

With such glamour, noise and power on tap, I probably wouldn’t have cared if the Aston was a hard-riding, bone-shaker of a GT - but it is the DB9’s ride and handling that really makes the car for me. Much as I love the edgy feel of more hard-nosed sporting machinery, a well set up GT chassis usually seems so much more appropriate when journeys are merely a means to an end. The Aston is a case in point, where subtle springing and damping is combined with superb body control to ensure the driver arrives at his destination suitably stirred, but never shaken. The steering is terrific too, with the meaty (dare I say ‘manly’?) feel of a big front-engined coupe, coupled to an accurate rack that really does allow the car to be hustled cleanly from point-to-point.

With perfect 50:50 weight distribution (the engine is mounted well back and the gearbox is in the rear axle), the DB9 remains poised through fast, sweeping corners at almost insane speeds. Where the bends tighten, inappropriately eager application of power will result in a delicious hint of tyre scrabble from an outside rear before the chassis electronics martial the opposing forces to reign-in any fireworks. With the traction control off you’d best be playing on wide-open spaces, where the prospect of addictive throttle-adjusted powerslides is likely to significantly increase the value of Bridgestone’s stock portfolio.

Without question then, the DB9 is a car to provide endless driving enjoyment on the Grand Tour, but what about practicality issues that reared their heads on our little foreign expedition?

Well, conceived as a 2+2 seater the car may have been, but I think we can agree those tiny rear seats are not suited for humans of any size. The problem is compounded by a wide central tunnel over the rear-mounted transmission that means one person can’t even sit cross-ways across both rear seats – but is there any 2+2 on the market that really lives up to its billing?

What you are really getting with the DB9 is a decent bit of luggage space behind the seats, that adds significant extra capacity to the small but usable boot. Given that most owners of exotic luxury cars such as these have access to a variety of other machines for more menial purposes, that arrangement seems perfectly practicable to us.

But seriously, does anyone contemplating an Aston Martin  really worry about the practicalities of ownership? No, I didn’t think so.

You contemplate an Aston Martin because it is a thing of rare beauty, exquisitely crafted from the finest materials, it goes like stink and makes you feel every bit like the million or more dollars you’ve got squirreled away in the pension fund. Or in our case, wish we had…

Pictures: Caroline Maguire('Happy-snaps' by Chris-R)
Full DB9 Technical Specs are here

PS. Big thanks to Kim Palmer and Aston Martin for lending us their car, and to
Aston Martin Racing for flying the flag in style at Le Mans!

At the PH Mulsanne meet before the race	AMOC didn't seem to get the sticker thing...
...but they did show up with some lovely metal	It may be sacrilege, but it's only once a year...
On the track - heading towards Porsche curves	And yes, they did all peel off easily!