Cease & Desist: How I Almost Ruined Our Shared Ownership Purchase
The thing nobody tells you about buying—or indeed selling—a house is the excruciating, soul-destroying waiting.
Having never been through this circus before, the whole process was shrouded in mystery to me. In the UK, being a buyer starts out as a frantic, high-adrenaline sprint. You find the house, your offer gets accepted, and suddenly you’re tossed into a whirlwind of tasks. You're finalizing mortgage offers, sorting finances, proving your own identity over and over again, and paying eye-watering sums for searches and surveys. You’re filling out forms and talking to people all day, every day.
And then? Once everything is ready and handed over to your conveyancer to send enquiries to the seller… silence. Absolute, tumbleweed-blowing, pin-drop silence. All that momentum you built up is instantly replaced by a quiet like no other.
Now, this quiet doesn’t mean nothing is happening—it’s just happening in a realm you’re not allowed to touch. Enquiries are being quietly battled out behind closed doors between solicitors. In a normal, civilized sale, you don’t talk to anyone other than your conveyancer or maybe a cheery estate agent sales progressor. Then, after weeks or months, a message magically pops up saying, "All enquiries have been settled! Please sign here to exchange!"
Naturally, those weeks of radio silence are spent in a state of sheer panic. Is the seller about to pull out? Is the roof about to fall in? Is the whole thing taking so long that our mortgage offer (usually valid for 90 days) will expire, forcing us to start this nightmare all over again?
(Fun fact: It's the exact reverse if you're selling! Silence for the first month, followed by total chaos in the second half while you hunt through attic boxes trying to find a guarantee for a window you had fitted in 2010, or council blueprints for a road built in the Reign of King Arthur.)
However, "normal" was not on our menu.
Because of our ongoing court drama—our defence statement posted and the judge currently pondering our fate—I didn't have the luxury of sitting around sipping tea while our purchase stalled.
The final property report had dropped the bombshell: a title restriction that legally barred us from ever owning 100% of the house. A deal-breaker for the mortgage lender. No mortgage, no house. And my conveyancer had essentially put down his pen, crossed his arms, and declared that until the Housing Association sorted it out, there was nothing he could do.
So, I did what any reasonable person on the brink of homelessness would do: I logged onto Google and set about deciphering the legal gobbledegook.
Reading through the first paragraph, I had a lightbulb moment. The issue was basically that the landowner needed a formal green light from the council. Right, I thought, I’ll sort it. I wrote directly to both of them, laying out our whole plight. Then, digging through the council’s public planning portal like a woman possessed, I hit gold: a S106 document from 2018 proving the council had already agreed they had no objection to 100% staircasing!
I was basically Erin Brockovich. I was a legal genius. I was saving everyone time and money.
Next, I wrote to the Housing Association’s solicitors demanding a timeline. (Was I going to need temporary housing? Was I moving into a tent? How many months are we talking here?!) I emailed the seller. I emailed her solicitor.
Monday morning arrived. I hit SEND on a barrage of emails and sat back like I’d just tossed a lit firecracker into a quiet room. That'll wake 'em up, I thought. They’re going to love me for fixing this.
Within an hour? Result! The landowner replied: "No objection from us, please forward this to your solicitor." Then the council chimed in: "Yep, no objection here either!"
I was flying. I was a mastermind.
And then... total, unmitigated disaster.
My conveyancer called me, sounding less like a proud legal ally and more like an exasperated parent. I was ordered to CEASE AND DESIST immediately. Stop investigating. Stop emailing third parties. Put the keyboard down and step away.
It turns out the Housing Association had formally requested that he tell me to back off. They sent an email explicitly informing me that I had been "inappropriate." This was a delicate legal issue, completely separate from the house sale, and absolutely not my job to fix. In fact, by poking my amateur nose into it, I was warned I could be guilty of a "conflict of interest" and risk collapsing the entire sale, causing them to refuse to sell to me altogether!
None of my hard-worked detective findings could be used by the solicitors. They probably hadn't even opened my attachments.
Just like that, my Erin Brockovich fantasy was obliterated. I felt gagged, bound, and forced to sit on my hands in the naughty corner. I had poked the bear, and now I was terrified they’d dig their heels in out of spite and shelve our purchase indefinitely.
With zero timeline and no control, it was time for Plan B: finding a rental. A place to run to when the ship finally sank.
Now, thanks to affordability rules brought in back in May, landlords require your annual income to be roughly 2.5 to 3 times the rent. Our official income consisted of my terrible figures from last year’s tax return (a story for another time) and Hank’s reduced pension (also another story). This capped our maximum rental budget at a whopping £775 a month.
In the current market, £775 gets you... well, a lot of flats, a room in a house share, and a tiny handful of actual houses. I booked every viewing I could find and spent a week touring the local property market.
It was a wild tour:
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House 1: A bungalow in Bicker Bar. A complete dive made of pre-fab "unconventional" materials. It was utterly unlivable. Dodgy wiring, a garage in the middle of a slow-motion collapse, and an unfinished bathroom preserved in amber straight from 1955. Whatever poor soul had lived there previously had departed, and not a single paintbrush had touched it since.
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House 2: Ruskington. A vast improvement! A lovely, sweet little 2-bed in a charming village. It had a garden for the cats, an open kitchen for Hank, and a wonderfully quirky bathroom I could happily spend the rest of my life in.
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House 3: Another bungalow. Sitting almost literally around the corner from the house we were trying to buy! It had two massive apple trees in the garden, which felt like a sign.
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House 4: The Farmhouse Cottage. Saved for Friday, and in normal circumstances, this would have been The One. Hands down. Nestled in the Lincolnshire Wolds, smack in the middle of a working farm's field with only one neighbor. The views from every single window were endless blue skies and rolling fields. Cat and Hank heaven—and only £700 a month!
I drove home on Friday feeling quietly encouraged. There was hope! Even if the Shared Ownership deal blew up in our faces, we wouldn't be living under a bridge. We had options!
I walked through the front door, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders just a little bit... and then I saw the mat.
Lying there were two official-looking envelopes from Lincolnshire County Court.
I opened them. Judge Anwar had made his ruling on our defence statement.
The Verdict: We have until September 24th to pack our bags and get out of the property. Oh, and we owe £415 in court fees for the privilege.
The safety net was gone. The clock was officially ticking, and the squeeze of eviction just got terrifyingly real...
to be continued....
7 comments
Your story keeps.me.at the edge of my seat.
Underneath all that calm you must be going batty.
You are really caught between a rock and a hard place. My thoughts are if you find a great place to rent and sign a lease then your mortgage goes through then what….make sure it is a month to month rental. And not a 6 month or so lease. Just in case..I don’t know if that is how they do rental agreements in England. Do hope that all your mortgage papers go through lickety split, sending you lots of positive vibes.
Oh Kath! You have us gripped with your story-telling – well not story, but what’s been happening! I have heard how antiquated and frustrated the buying/selling process in the UK is (I’m in New Zealand, where it’s slightly better).
Gosh, you are under the pump lady, thank you for sharing and remaining up beat for us, I can image the toll its taking on you, Hank and the cats! I’d be moving to the country and taking some time to chill for awhile!
I hope you get some resolution soon. sending you bestest of wishes!
You’re an incredible story teller. You keep me in the edge of my seat. The ongoing stress level you’ve been under and you maintaining as upbeat an attitude that you have is amazing. Buying or selling a home is daunting. in the space of 4 months I needed to sell my, my mom’s, and my boyfriend’s homes. Plus, buy another home for myself. Then I moved 250 miles away. It was insanely stressful. I know how frustrated you must feel. Hang in there.
I don’t understand the purchasing legalitys at all. Did you get a house? I hope so. ❤️
You certainly have been through it and I will be so happy for you once you’re in the other side of this. Btw your writing is fabulous!!!!
You have amazed me with your positivity through this horrendous situation. How on earth you have managed to battle through all the paperwork and still have time to be creative is incredible. I do trust that you will soon have a home of your own. Sending you love Jen
Sadly the “legal” and governing systems here are not much better…sending good juju to get this resolved in the best possible light!