There's a lot of it about. My Fair Lady, I mean - and it's entirely understandable.
This being the show's 50th anniversary, it's being given a fair old hammering at 3112 hours a time by amateur companies up and down Britain. The National Operatic and Dramatic Association (NODA) reports that the year will eventually have seen 37 productions by its affiliated societies.
The most recent in our part of the world was Studley Operatic Society's version. This was the group's centenary production and it closed on Saturday - by which time, I had already done my bit of deference to half-centuries by seeing the show five times this year, including on successive nights, first in Birmingham and then in Kidderminster.
But quite apart from hailing the half-century, there is another reason to pause for thought right now. Fifty years ago, this coming Saturday - "this week, on the 20th of May" - was designated Liza Doolittle Day.
Our Cockney charmer sacrificed her three-syllabled first name in the cause of Alan Jay Lerner's lyrics and Frederic Loewe's music so that the king could proclaim the honour he was bestowing on her without upsetting the purists.
Moreover, Studley maintained a proper respect for the merry month by handing the musical director's baton to the aptly-named Abbie May.
But to revert to proper English, it is always a shock to hear Higgins, that master of the language, suggesting that someone should be taken out and hung for the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue. Unless he's speaking of portraits, he means hanged.
A possible explanation is that this was penned by two writers from America, one of those places where Higgins alleges that English completely disappears. And there's the further thought that it was written by A Lerner . . .
What's more, this paragon of pronunciation says the Scotch and the Irish leave him close to tears - a reference to a whisky and a whiskey that defies comprehension.
And Higgins after Higgins after Higgins, to my certain knowledge, based on more marathon productions than can possibly have been good for me, demonstrates his loyalty to the superfluous R when he declaims, "I know your nerves are as roar as meat in a butcher's window"
Sutton Arts Theatre will be going from the sublime to the gorblimey next season - or, to be more precise, the process appears to be in reverse.
The actual dates are not yet available, but second on the non-specific list comes The Farndale Avenue Housing Estate Townswomen's Guild Drama Society's Production of A Christmas Carol - known to its intimates as The Farndale Carol. Then, right at the end, comes The Importance of Being Earnest, the Oscar Wilde classic.
Other productions in prospect are John Patrick's Everybody Loves Opal, the Patrick Hamilton thriller Gaslight, the Derek Benfield farce Beyond a Joke, and Stevie, the play by Hugh Whitemore about the poet Stevie Smith and life with her aunt in North London.
Meanwhile, its next production, opening on June 15, will be the Oliver Goldsmith classic, She Stoops to Conquer.
It's strange, isn't it? As far as I know, Crazy for You has not been done in the area for years - and suddenly, we have had three groups presenting it in a month.
I can neither account for its long absence not for its sudden urge to play the three-come-at-once buses game - but it is good to record the re-appearance of a show that contains so many tunes we are happy to hum without knowing where they have come from.
Great numbers like I Got Rhythm , Embraceable You , They Can't Take That Away From Me - and others - take you by storm. And the effect is somehow multiplied when the performers are youngsters like Coventry Youth Operetta Group, which presented the show last week in a barnstorming production full of inventive choreography that incorporated, among other things, an axe, pickaxes and silver-plated trays.
I did not manage to get to Wolverhampton Musical Comedy Company's production but I noticed that the different back-cloths used by YOG and Birmingham's Argosy Musical Theatre Company both managed to display what Keith Waterhouse pigeonholes as The Aberrant Apostrophe.
In these two cases, it manifested itself in a theatre sign that said, Follie's and it looked as if it had been there a considerable time. Very odd.