Probably in a Philosophy lecture in first year at Uni, in a packed lecture theatre. (easy subsiduary subject for loads of folks, only really strange folk take it as a straight subject for three years ... Oh and me of course!)
The lecture was about extreme scepticism, and I meant to say, "So in the end we might even doubt the evidence of our own sense organs"! *
An understandable Freudian slip for a frustrated fresher who had failed miserably thus far to get his end away, and only sniff of a pull had been being groped by hairy geordie (male) at the freshers disco.
I battled bravely to carry on my point, but the gales of laughter from 90 odd students and the lecturer, rendered me finally speechless (a rarity), and with an over-ripe tomatoe coloured head!
Mr Gruber (real name!) My Austrian lecturer nearly outdid me in third year though. He was so stereotypical it was unreal, severe shortback & sides, bristle moustache, heavy Austrian accent. Always wore a tweed suit and was never seen without his pipe, which he constantly puffed on during tutorials (Not enough people for lectures now, we were down to a bakers dozen)
Well Herr Gruber was constantly filling his pipe, fiddling with it, re-lighting it etc. while pontificating about Kant, Leibniz, Wittgenstein or whoever; he never looked at us, but rather into the air, or at the walls or the ceiling, concentrating on the subject he was delivering.
When he came to the main point of his discourse he would usually knock out his pipe, therebye extinguishing the fuming pot, and pop it in his pocket, so as better to concentrate on the crucial elements of his presentation.
On the day in question, talking about logical positivism if my memory serves me well, Herr Gruber started to smoke, and by that I don't mean his pipe or a fag. Smoke litterally bellowed from his jacket, as the lining of it was being ignited by the embers from his pipe, which he had deposited there as he came to the climax of his talk. The few of us who were still awake tried to get our teutonic masters attention, but as I am sure you'll appreciate, such is the engrossing nature of logical positivism that this proved difficult. When we did manage to alert his attention to the fact that his clothes were literally on fire, he acted as if nothing unusual was happening. Nor did his demenour alter as he pulled his jacket open, and therebye gave the fledgling flames a good breathe of fresh oxygen, enough indeed to see flames rapidly consume what little was left of the lining in that side of his jacket.
Cool as you like he slipped off his jacket, folded it in four, and therebye doused the fire. He popped it on the desk, along with the pipe that had fallen from what was left of his pocket.
For once he fixed us with his gaze,
"Vell, I bet you have never had your lecturer set himself on fire before? and I don't suppose you ever vill again!" He then grinned from ear to ear, probably the only time we saw him smile.
With that it was on with the tutorial as if nothing had happened.
By the next tutorial he had had the lining of the jacket replaced, and the pipe was back to its accustomed place in the side of his mouth, but every time he knocked it out and stuck it away there was a collective holding of breathe.
*Yes I said "So in the end we might even doubt the evidence of our own SEX organs"!
