The Telegraph has an article about the enduring appeal of Aston Martin and what it means to drive one today. The author, who like many of us owned the Corgi DB5 when younger, says:
Say “Aston Martin” and a world of values is immediately conjured up. It is the triple distillate of Englishness, as likely to cause a short-circuit in the pleasure centre of (essentially male) consumers as the words “sporting gun” or the name “Anderson & Sheppard”. Somehow it summons unfocused, but powerful, memories of summer days, a muddle of hot oil smells and rasping exhaust notes. With, perhaps, a measure of polite sexual triumphalism.