At times, a head of drama is a profession more akin to being a detective inspector. Countless numbers of props, costumes, DVDs and play scripts go missing ever year, with the culprit rarely being brought to justice.
As a young and ambitious teacher whose budget for drama was being slashed each year, I managed to keep things safe by locking them in cupboards and putting codes on doors.
That is until one little chap decided to sneak in and out with some of my prized films, and I caught him red-handed.
It could hardly have been a clearer case and any judge would have sided with me immediately. Of course, no judge was faced with the boy's dad. Outraged that I had accused his son of stealing, he collared me the following afternoon while picking up his son.
I had caught the boy with the DVDs and he had returned them as I requested. This meant that when the father demanded to see the scene of the crime, I had to admit that in fact nothing was now missing, as evidenced by the bountiful supply of DVDs in my office of which any branch of Blockbuster would be envious.
This didn't register with the father who launched into a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse at my judgement, claiming his darling son would never do such a thing and that if I accused him again he would be back with a further showering of expletives.
I thought the best way to unwind would be with a relaxing trip to the gym on the way home. Bypassing the machines, I headed straight for the spa. With only a towel to protect my modesty, I went into the steam room and let the day's troubles evaporate.
As the steam cleared, I looked over and to my horror saw the boy's father doing the same. I was never sure if the resulting jet of steam that filled the room came from the vent or his ears.
The writer is a former drama teacher from Oldham. Email your worst parent stories to firstname.lastname@example.org.