One-77 to be fastest Aston ever

jimcumming wrote:

VirginPower wrote:

I like it. It looks striking. It's very fast. If you have the space and need to, it does 220mph. It smells like a rich man's locker room.

The niggles? It handles like a long tea tray and is prone to tram-lining as it's going along.

Inside again, it judders on hard lock at slow speed and doesn't allow sensitive throttle inputs - this may be speculation, but this beast seems mapped to sniff at them and slap you for your spinelessness.

Outside now, and the colour is the first thing you see as you look at the body panels bulging and slashing their way along its squat, elongated road presence. It's a nice colour. Sort of grey-brown, or gunmetal in a way. Bronzey? Bronzey.

It is very powerful, and particularly when stabbing at the muscle at 5500rpm in third, it gives the one-and-a-half-tonnes-plus-you a potent, instantaneous wallop from a torque-infused smattering of some of the 700bhp available at 7800rpm.

Don't even bother in the wet, though, as the spectrum of damping adjustment the computer allows seems almost to belittle the idea of compromise, leaving a slim margin of drift.

It whispers to you ethereally through every growl of the engine and whimper of the power steering pump that if you try to tame it before you know yourself, it will either kill you or itself of both or neither before you have ever come close to exploiting its limits.

Yet it's the details that can appear to disappoint. Flipping down the sun visor, one notices that the mirror has been glued onto the surface clumsily. Inserting the start system or operating some of the main controls requires contortions around the sort of awkward interior architecture that has been ironed out of many of its competitors.

But perhaps that is one of its graces, since if you are completely isolated from the visceral nature of your interaction with a machine whose very reason for existence is to make a statement about not just its own, but our bodily physicality, then it is rendered less than a real, human experience, and it is nothing more than a number, an outline and a dream that never truly manifests in our temporal consciousness when driven.

And that is the overall impression as I walk away - no matter what has been said or will be said, the Aston Martin One-77 is actually there. I don't need to look around. But I do. It's still there: the Aston Martin One-77. Ticking a mocking titter. I turn and leave; stooped through a weight of exhilaration and defeat. You won, Aston Martin. You won.

It does about 21mpg on average.

The Aston Martin One-77 Coupe is a bitch. And I spanked it?

What! No dab of oppo?