Last month, after a year-long hunt, my wife and I had an offer accepted on a house.
Although the purchase was going to require a mortgage at a less-than-ideal moment for borrowers, monthly payments would be manageable. More importantly, the place was comfortably the nicest we had found, and ticked every box on our checklist. Feeling confident, we saw off a rival buyer with a strong bid and immediately moved in (in our heads).
If this all sounds a bit smug, you'll be relieved to know that we won't actually be moving in. Within hours of having our offer accepted, we learned that the property is located just a 100m tire-screech away from a notorious boy racer hotspot. Unsurprisingly, neither estate agent nor seller had advertised what one long-term neighbour described to us as an “intolerable” blight of all-hours anti-social behaviour, thumping sub-woofers, and speeding. Deflated, we withdrew our bid the next morning.