A Decorated Officer, A Speeding Ticket, and a Career in Ruins: The Thin Line Between Duty and Dismissal

When a 20-year police veteran was fired for rushing to help his colleagues, it ignited a firestorm of debate. Is the system that's meant to support officers now actively working against them?

When Sergeant Tim Perrin hit “post” on X earlier this week, he probably didn’t imagine the wave of reaction it would trigger. But within hours, his story had lit up social media.

“Today, after over 20 yrs as a dedicated, decorated and highly skilled officer, I was dismissed for providing a ‘misleading account’ in relation to a speed camera activation application for exemption when rushing to help colleagues whilst on duty. I left with my head held high.”

His post reached more than 150,000 people and continues to gain traction. It tapped into a simmering and festering frustration shared by many who serve, or who have served, on the frontlines of our emergency services and those who support them: that the system no longer feels fair. Instead, many feel that police officers and emergency workers in general are now being scrutinised more harshly than ever before, even when their intentions are clear and honourable.

Let’s lay out the timeline, as confirmed by Devon & Cornwall Police.

On 20 August 2023, PS Perrin was on his way to Charles Cross Custody Centre in Plymouth, driving his personal vehicle. He was reportedly heading into work to support his colleagues during what he described as unfolding disorder. Along the way, he was clocked driving 48mph in a 30mph zone. A Notice of Intended Prosecution was issued.

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Perrin responded with a request for exemption, explaining the circumstances. He was, by his account, heading into work urgently to assist officers already facing a volatile situation. His application for exemption was rejected. He accepted the outcome, paid the ticket, and moved on.

But the force didn’t. What followed was a misconduct hearing, in which it was alleged that Perrin’s written explanation had been dishonest and/or misleading. Represented by legal counsel, Perrin strongly disputed this characterisation.

“I strongly contested the allegation that my response was misleading with my barrister. The panel decided it was.”

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The result? Dismissal without notice. No opportunity to appeal. A two-decade policing career gone in the space of a single hearing that Perrin has to wait almost two years for.

There’s been no suggestion, at least in the public domain, that Perrin lied about the speeding. Nor has anyone challenged the fact that he was on his way into work in response to a genuine policing need. The issue, as phrased by the panel, was about the language used in his explanation — whether it misled the unit, staffed by civilians, assessing the exemption.

Now, let’s clarify something: UK law does allow for non-police vehicles to be used for policing purposes in certain circumstances. A private vehicle can, when necessary, become a means of responding to an emergency. It doesn’t need blue lights or a marked livery. It needs necessity, intent, and lawful purpose. On that count, Perrin’s actions appear to have been motivated by precisely that.

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It calls to mind a moment from my own career on the thin blue line.

In East London, in mid-vehicle pursuit, the armed suspect decamped from his stolen vehicle and bolted ahead of me. I was about to lose him. On foot, he was faster than me. Then, a black cab driver, seeing what was unfolding, pulled over and offered to help. I jumped in. He drove just fast enough for me to get a visual again. It worked. We got the suspect. If the black cab driver received a speeding ticket, I’d have defended him with everything I had. I’d have provided the CAD number, offered a statement, made sure his good deed didn’t cost him. That cabbie never got a ticket. But that principle, recognising intent and policing context, matters.

Some civilian readers might be tempted to say, “Well, if I was caught speeding, I’d get a ticket too.” But that comparison doesn’t stand up to the facts. It is not ‘like for like’. Sergeant Perrin was not just another driver on the road. He was a trained police supervisor responding to an urgent policing need.

He holds a blue-light permit, which means he has completed advanced driver training specifically designed for responding safely at speed during emergencies. While he was driving his personal vehicle, and it did not have lights or sirens, the law recognises that any car can be used for policing purposes when the need arises.

Perrin wasn’t driving carelessly or for personal reasons. He was making a professional judgment to get to a scene quickly where colleagues needed him. That distinction is crucial, and pretending this was just another case of someone breaking the speed limit ignores the very purpose and context of his actions.

So why did this case go the way it did? Some believe the culture has shifted. Discretion has given way to dogma. Fear of criticism — both inside and out — is pushing decision-makers to lean on rigid regulations written from the safety of an office, while common sense is left behind. Policing has evolved because the streets have changed. They are more volatile, more hostile, more dangerous. But the rules? They’ve stayed the same. They haven’t kept pace with the rising threat officers now face every day.

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Among those reacting to Perrin’s dismissal, Rory Geoghegan wrote:

“In case nobody else said it at the hearing or on your way out of the door, thank you for your service over many years. I will await the Chair’s report, but there is a growing sense of ‘there but for the grace of God’ when it comes to some of the cases reaching hearings.”

That phrase — “there but for the grace of God” — has echoed across policing forums this week. Because what happened to Perrin could happen to almost anyone who still believes in doing the right thing under pressure.

Malik Walton put it plainly:

“That fact you chose to contest it and not just accept the fine/points suggests you thought you had nothing to hide. Seems policing the police has become more important than fighting crime.”

That’s the sentiment gripping many in the emergency services today. It’s not just about rules. It’s about trust. It’s about feeling like the job no longer has your back when you’re trying to do what’s right.

And that’s where this case starts to feel bigger than just one man.

Perrin’s actions weren’t malicious. He wasn’t reckless for the sake of it. He was, by his own admission and with no contradiction from the force, trying to get into work quickly to support colleagues who needed help. This was during a period of public disorder that had received widespread news coverage. He responded to a call of duty. For that, he’s now jobless.

I think back to the tragic morning of the evil 7/7 bombings, where cowards targeted the general public. I was off-duty, on a rest day. But when I woke up and saw what had happened — saw the devastation on TV — I didn’t hesitate. I rushed into work to help my team. I spent the rest of that day on the ground, along with thousands of other police officers, ambulance crews and firefighters, helping however I could. Had I been pulled over for speeding on the way in, would I have contested it? Absolutely. Would I have been believed today? That’s no longer so clear.

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Times have changed, and it’s no longer just criminals taking aim. Increasingly, it’s our own emergency workers who find themselves in the firing line. Strip away our police, our paramedics, EMTs & ECAs, our firefighters, our prison officers and the thin line holding society together starts to unravel. Without them, order collapses and quickly. That’s the reality. Yet, instead of backing them, we seem more focused on punishing them for doing the very job we expect them to do. What happened to Lorne Castle is a prime example.

Many in the emergency services community suspect there’s something deeper going on. That some disciplinary decisions are influenced by internal power struggles. That making an example of a frontline officer is sometimes seen as a fast track to promotion. Or that some senior officers feel pressure to appear tough on standards because of past scandals that have rocked public trust. Whatever the reason, the outcome is the same: disillusioned officers. Broken trust. Low morale. Lots of resignations.

What many in the general public may not realise is how the police promotion system can sometimes distort priorities. Officers seeking promotion are often encouraged to demonstrate their integrity by reporting wrongdoing within the ranks. In theory, that sounds reasonable. But in practice, it can breed a culture where officers start actively searching for misconduct among their peers, not because it’s serious or harmful, but because they need a case to tick a box.

If they’re surrounded by colleagues who haven’t stepped out of line, they start digging for something that can be used as evidence of their leadership potential. I’ve always said that’s the wrong way to identify future leaders. It rewards those who know how to work the system, not necessarily those who are best placed to inspire, support, and lead others. To be clear, I’m not saying that’s what happened here. But it happens far more often than the public ever hears about, and it chips away at the trust within teams that policing relies on.

Having served in the armed forces and across three branches of our emergency services, I can say with confidence that the strongest leaders I ever worked under came from the military. In my experience, promotion in the armed forces wasn’t built around reporting your colleagues to prove integrity. It was earned through character, competence, bravery and the ability to lead under pressure. That approach created trust — and it built real teams.

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So let’s ask it outright: Should a decorated police sergeant really be dismissed from the job for speeding into work to help colleagues under attack, simply because his wording on a form was deemed too vague or misleading?

This case deserves scrutiny. Because it represents more than one man’s fall from grace. It’s a signal to every officer who still rushes in when the call comes. It tells them: be careful. Not just on the street, but in how you explain yourself afterwards.

At a time when violent offenders are being released early due to prison overcrowding, when predators are walking free with suspended sentences, and when sexual offences — particularly those targeting lone women and girls — appear to be rising at an alarming rate, we need the police more than ever. Not just in numbers but in strength, experience, and courage.

We need officers like Tim Perrin — those who are willing to head towards the danger, even when off-duty. Yet instead of backing that bravery, some senior leadership teams seem fixated on public floggings designed to appease a very loud but very small minority who simply do not like the police. They also seem determined to win favour with some parts of the mainstream media that have turned police-bashing into a full-time spectator sport.

What these leaders fail to see is the long-term damage they are doing.

This culture of performance discipline might buy headlines, but it drains morale, weakens trust, and drives good officers out of the job. It sabotages recruitment and fuels the quiet exodus already happening across the country. If you know a police officer, ask them about their workload. Ask them about what morale on the thin blue line is like at the moment.

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Those of us who pay attention to the frontlines having previously served on them, who read the signs, monitor the news wires, watch the comments, and track the stories coming out of The Job and beyond can feel it. Something is bubbling. The pressure is building.

And when that moment comes, when it all goes wrong, we will need police officers and other emergency workers who aren’t afraid to act, who can rely on their training and instinct without fearing they’ll be the next to face the firing squad. That starts with strong and bold leadership that understands the job, not leadership that sells it out.

We’ll be watching this story closely and updating readers with any new developments as they emerge. The Chair’s full report is yet to be published, and it may shed more light. But until then, the questions raised by Perrin’s dismissal continue to resonate far and wide.

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