Aston ownership, sorry, custodianship, affords one certain privileges. Like attending a Prince's Trust charity shoot at the Royal Berkshire Shooting School. Founded and co-sponsored by Aston Martin seven years ago, it's an annual and eagerly anticipated event that has so far raised some ΂£500,000. I've been fortunate to attend on one previous occasion. From memory I drove there in a 911 and was directed into a field to park. This year, in the DB7, I was waved into an Aston-only area right by the clubhouse, crammed with Vanquishes, DB7s and a gorgeous DB5. Proof, if any were needed, that you only truly arrive in an Aston.

Hob-nobbing aside, life with the DB7 has settled down nicely. It's a great partner, all that effortless power and torque, compliance and connectedness combining to deliver a genuinely special driving experience, even on the most humdrum journey.

It's not a wring-its-neck sort of car: you soon learn it works best if you calmly unleash the performance in one smooth, measured stream. But despite the lack of drama it can maintain serious pace along any given B-road, often without straying lower than fourth gear.

Traffic jams are the only conditions I've found that the DB dislikes, the heavy clutch, light throttle and jumpy low-rev response making it easy to induce some unseemly transmission shunt.

Mechanically the Aston is standing up to daily use extremely well. It feels robust and ready for the rigours of high mileage, something you might not expect of a 6-litre V12 super-GT. With the miles piling on nicely I've got TFU booked in to Aston's Works Service department at Newport Pagnell for its first service (7500 miles). After Harry's run-in with Audi's dealer network, I'm expecting an altogether more satisfying experience.