Couldn't you just predict it? One researches the local ethnic nosh market, only to find an Arab chap in Hull purveys the best curry for 30 miles around, order a couple of bagfulls, and some Hasidic Red Sea Pedestrain turns up shouting the odds about some spurious delivery charge! Chap was ranting about redecorating the place or something. Frankly, if I wasn't orf to the march in town, I'd've jolly well cut his whiskers orf, and reported the out of date tax disc to the filth.
How did Gilbert O'Sullivan put it? 'Up shoots the price of shoddy!' Country's gorn to the dogs, what?