When I was head of Year 8, Chantel was the girl who always gave us a run for our money. What we didn’t bank on was her mother. Chantel’s mobile phone went off during a music lesson so the music teacher confiscated it and gave it to me.

At breaktime, Chantel appeared with her hand outstretched, simply stating, “phone”. After a difficult conversation, she agreed that she could collect it from reception the following day.

Half an hour passed and I was in the midst of teaching my Year 8 history class about the Tudors when, to my horror, in stormed Chantel’s mother. With her daughter’s mannerisms, she also held her hand outstretched and shouted “phone”. The class downed tools and enjoyed the show. When I asked her to leave, she started yelling that I had stolen her daughter’s phone and that she needed it for her safety. When my cajoling failed, I assertively pointed to the door and shouted “Out”. She left.

The class applauded and I calmly wrote a note to the school office saying: “Mrs Bennett has just stormed into my classroom - she’s wandering around the school with Chantel - help!” I gave the note to a child to take to reception. Unbeknown to me or the class, Mrs Bennett was waiting in the corridor. She snatched the note from the bewildered child and stomped back in to the room, shouting: “Don’t you fucking write notes about me.”

At that point I lost my cool and yelled: “Out! Get out of my classroom!” Eventually she realised she was not getting anywhere and stormed out. My class rewarded my efforts with applause and the word soon got round that: “Chantel’s mum dissed Sir but he sorted her out.” My street cred shot through the roof.

The writer is a headteacher in north London. Send your worst parent stories to features@tes.co.uk and you could earn #163;50 in MS vouchers.