At University 25 years ago, I can remember sitting through numerous lectures which were nothing more than an hour of incomprehensible mutterings and scribbled equations, delivered by a man dressed in a random set of garments from Oxfam, who clearly felt uncomfortable interacting with the human race and straying too far away from a test tube and Bunsen Burner. I can't remember caring though.
Nowadays the students complain if the lecturer doesn't turn up, is late or just completely rubbish. Rightly so I suppose, now that they are paying. The only reason there aren't more complaints is that many students struggle to read and write. Manchester Metropolitan even has a text messaging service for those who can't string a sentence together but don't want to feel left out.
As the Universitites are funded by student numbers; they never complain, no matter how many halfwits are delivered to them to do Cartooon Studies, Cultural studies or Paint Management and Monitoring. They just give a First to all those who turn up, a Second to those who don't and a Douglas (don't know what the modern word for these is) to the rest who can't even remember which former Poly they are at. (Note to parents; any subject with the word Studies in it, is just trying desperately to get you to take it seriously. Resist this tempation, laugh out loud and blow the money earmarked for your offspring's tuition fees on an extended tour of Australia and New Zealand.)