Aston Martin DB12 - long-term review

Proportion. It’s something Aston is famously good at. Look at all that bonnet, the suggestion of power and presence, how the cabin is set back, the roofline dropping to the rear. As a design it communicates exactly what the DB12 is all about and presents it in a great-looking, beautifully proportioned package.

But don’t you think it’s also a bit… imbalanced? I’ll tell you where I’m going with this – look at the size difference between the bonnet and the bootlid. What it says to me is that this is all about the engine, and what happens at the back is very much an afterthought. An afterthought that, when you try to use it, is alarmingly easy to smack your head on. ‘You’ll only do that once,’ I hear you saying. Not so, I’m currently on three strikes and very nearly out.

You can’t load the boot. You either bend down miles or sort of put your chin over the bootlid and load without looking. It’s like putting something under your bed – you rest your chin on top and sort of rummage around. It’s awkward. And the 262-litre area is tiny. And oddly shaped.

This, I remind you, is Aston’s grand tourer. The one that should whisk you across Europe and allow you to elegantly unload outside some French chateau. Instead you’ll be explaining to the worried bellhop how you got that bruise on your brow and why your bags are pre-unpacked with the contents thrust blindly in.

The broad-shouldered Vantage is a bruiser of a sports car, but it gets a proper hatch at the back. Big old 346-litre area back there. Probably swallows a set of golfing irons. And does so without putting a crick in your back. That’s the one you’d imagine has been designed as the grand tourer.

Because no-one’s putting anyone in the back seats of one of these. Sure there are a pair of seats back there, or at least seat-shaped spaces, but climbing in is like posting yourself into a kitchen cupboard – you’d only do it to see if you actually fitted. And even then only after several wines. Imagine the knuckle-gnawing indignity of clambering out at the chateau.

Oh, so you’re going to transport kids are you? Yeah, right. You show me the DB12 owner with a family who doesn’t also own a dirty great SUV. Look, amongst grand tourers, there’s only one it’s acceptable to be seen climbing out of the back of, and that’s the Conti GT.

There’s no point in the DB12 having back seats. They’re there to distinguish GT from sports car, that’s it. And the same applies to the bootlid. With the added point that a full tailgate does also look a bit plebian. The DB12 ought to function as a daily driving supercar, and when it comes to practicality, it misses the mark.

The problem is that I find myself not caring a jot. I’d suffer the bruised brows and contorted backs, because I still think the DB12 is sodding wonderful. I ran a DB11 a few years back and had a number of complaints. The 12 rectifies almost every single one of them. I only miss the V12 for its smooth start-up, after that I prefer the V8’s manners – and the fact there’s always more power if you j-u-s-t keep pushing the pedal a bit further. Turns out it’s hard to keep a sense of proportion where the DB12 is concerned.