I was 18 years old when I first sat in an Aston Martin.
My new boyfriend’s Dad had just bought a silver DB9, he’d taken semi-retirement from his accountancy business.
My boyfriend, Rod, adored it. He’d wash and polish it every weekend and his dad would let him back it out the driveway sometimes.
The first time it needed a service, Rod made all the arrangements. We were living in Glasgow and the only dealership in Scotland was through in Edinburgh.
His face lit up like a Christmas tree when his dad said “Son, I’ve put you on the insurance, you can drive it through.”
“Can I take Kim?” he asked.
“Of course,” his dad grinned.
We drove through like we were the shit. Windows down, shades on, tunes pumping. God knows what we looked like, but we couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces.
We had the day in Edinburgh and drove back through the rush hour traffic, delighted it took such a long time.
17 years later we are married with two sons.
Rod has gone from assistant service advisor at BMW to salesman at Vauxhall, business manager at BMW, sales manager at Porsche and head of sales at Leven Car Company.
This last roletook us to Edinburgh so Rod could work with the company’s two brands: Rolls-Royce and Aston Martin. We told everyone he had his dream job – until this month.
In November 2017, aged 38, Rod was appointed Dealer Principal of Aston Martin Edinburgh.
He phoned me on his way home to tell me. I was rushing around mad, trying to get the kids in their pjs so I could make it to Parents’ Evening as soon as Rod got in. I stopped dead and squealed down the phone. I was so proud of him I could burst.
He walked through the door with that same lit-up Christmas tree smile and all three of us jumped on him for a huge hug.
Rod and I, like every couple, have faced a lot of life’s challenges together. I wish I could sit in the back seat of that silver DB9 and whisper, “Keep driving, guys, you’re going to get there.”