I have a degree in English Literary and Cultural Studies. During this time, I soon discovered that at universities, there seems to be an exceptional acceptance for all kinds of quirky, eccentric personalities. One of them was an English Literature professor emeritus in his at that time 104th semester, as he proudly told us in the first session. Half a head shorter than me (I'm 1,65m), with thick glasses, he seemed like he accidentally stepped into Wells' timemachine. Not because he dressed like an Edwardian gentleman, but because he was in denial of all technology more recent than the typewriter. Thus, his student assistent copied the typewritten handouts for every session and managed his E-Mail account. In case we needed to contact him, he gave us his private phone number to call him anytime, but if possible not too late in the evening! A friend of mine once called him and his wife, a lovely lady, picked up the phone. When she handed the phone to him, he seemed truly delighted to talk to one of his students, because "they never call anymore these days!".

Although his lecture was rather on the work intensive side - he wasn't amused when some impertinent student dared to ask whether we really had to read all seven books on the list - it was one of my favourites. It covered the history of literature from Beowulf to modern times. Every session was dedicated to one literary period. In the first half, he would talk about one examplary piece of literature, starting out by reading a paragraph or two - yes, always from the original verison. He was versed in all stages of English and I still remember my awe while listening to the foreign sounds of Beowulf's Old English.

In his over 50 years of studying and working at the university, he had accumulated an impressive knowledge of all kinds of things and larded his lectures with trivial, but interesting facts. One day, when he unexpectedly finished five minutes early, he happily used the remaining time to explain the CERN, because he always wanted to be a physicist. In his lecture on Sir Walter Scott, born in Edinburgh - of course he used the German name Edinburg - he taught us that probably all of us pronounced the city's name incorrectly (something like [ˈɛdɪnbɜ:roʊ]) and that a true Scot would say "Embro".

Although he delivered his lecture in German, we learned a ton of new words. One of them I still remember distinctly, although I've never used it since. When talking about Jane Austen one day, he explained to us that the English language took words not only from French, but also from Latin and Greek. The famous author's cause of death was the perfect example, as Austen probably died of Addison's disease, which affects the suprarenal glands. In case I've lost you here, let me explain. All the components of this word come from Latin: supra means above, renal comes renes, kidney, and gland comes from glandula. So we're talking about the glands above the kidneys, probably better known as adrenal glands.

I never had the opportunity to smuggle this gem into a conversation, so I teach it to you, although you'll probably never use it either. You're welcome.