Even you will know that I have always considered the way a car addresses the road to be of the utmost importance.
It’s all very well giving it enough grip to dislodge my dentures every time I turn the wheel, but if it doesn’t present itself properly, it’s not worth a damn.
It is for precisely this reason that I persuaded three successive Ms over a period of more than 50 years to retain the DB5, before the current incumbent took up the position.
The DB10 is not the best in this regard because, despite its other limitations, I have always regarded the DBS (in which my dear wife was dispatched by what I must concede was a quite exceptional shot by Irma Bunt) as the most comfortable company car I’ve run. As an aside, do I need to remind you that, 46 years on, the almost appropriately named Ms Bunt remains at large?
I digress. The DB10 provides sufficient ride quality to survive clattering down several dozen steps without dislodging my waist-training corset, so I think we can categorise that as ‘good enough.’ As for the handling, it is hard to think how it can be improved.
God knows it certainly wasn’t the power that allowed me to keep clear of the clutches of the evil Mr Hinx during our impromptu high-speed sight-seeing tour of the capital.
This is where I talk about understeer and oversteer, right? Not today, kiddo. To me, the rather important question is could I set the cruise control and then steer it with my feet while perched on the roof locked in a life and death struggle in an entirely implausible location with an opponent of quite exceptional size, ugliness and stupidity?