Hock - tsscch The sound that signifies instant comedy. One of the great pleasures in a gentleman's life comes when he gets the opportunity to highlight out the henpecked status of a friend or colleague. With the simple mechanism of the sound above and a whip like gesture from the hand, instant paranoia descends on its subject. Your not henpecked, you know your not fcuking henpecked. Your relationship with your missus is one of mutual understanding. You go out together, sometimes you do your own thing, on the whole, the situation is healthy. But all it takes is one Hock-tssccch from a mate and you start questioning the status quo at home. I love doing it to people. There's a bloke at work, who's not allowed out of his fcuking room, never mind down the pub. Now this would be fine, but he likes to pretend that things are otherwise and that he is truly the master of his own destiny. The fact that he's not been down the boozer for about three years suggests the opposite is true, but he's got a huge repository of excuses as to why he can't attend single sex lager sessions. All his excuses are massively hetero-tigerish like, 'i'm building a wall', or 'i've got to kill me dog' to deflect the complete fakery on show to all but the least perceptive. Today, we were near the brew machine having a chat about the World Cup Quarters. A mad scouser who works with us, Neil, got leathered yesterday, booked a ferry ticket for him and his 12 year old son and made plans to fcuk off to Germany on Thursday after removing the lad from school. When he got home, he forgot to tell his wife, only putting her in the Rembrandt as he left for work this morning. He said he could hear her screams over his car engine. Cue lots of head shaking, "Fcuking hell, mate, you is in dee sh-it, when you get back tonight," "Jesus Neil, I wouldn't have tried that one on." "Might I suggest a Â£1.80 bunch of flowers on the way home". Underneath all the comments was a bit of admiration for the sheer 'kiss my arrse' nature of his actions. Despite considering myself an at least equal trouser wearer at my gaff, I don't think i'd have tried that one on. The astonishing thing is that the henpecked fcuker is stood with us and tries to brass it out, putting himself in the same bracket as Neil. "Too right Neil. You've got to show 'em who's boss every now and again, eh?" There was a stunned silence followed by a massive burst of laughter, whilst he stood there with a daft look on his face. Neil broke the reverie by shouting, in between coffee voms "Fcuk off Alan. The last time you watched a world cup match with a beer in your hand, you had a Nobby Styles rosette on." And with that, the scales fell from Alan's eyes, and he realised that we'd known all along. As he walked back to his desk, the combined 'Hock-tssccchss' were at a Ben-Hur chariot race level. Have any other arrsers got stories of those poor unfortunate 'i'm not henpecked me mate honest' blokes'?