Analysis: Bugsy Malone ': Weedeater, The Vet And A Computer'

Bugsy Malone
Weedeater, the Vet and a Computer. Paddy O'Rourke was a gentle giant. Irish to the core his bright blue eyes, curly black hair and lilting brogue guaranteed his surgery was always full. Young girls who frequented one of three pony clubs in the area came in droves to Paddy. Grandmothers brought their canaries, while small grubby boys brought scruffy mixed-breed dogs. The Irish Vet standing taller than most of his clients had a natural affinity with animals, which gained him respect and admiration from whichever age bracket he helped.
Right now wholesome looks or charm didn’t sway me; I had a nasty problem that needed fixing.
Banging on the door to his residence, at last, brought a pyjama clad Vet to the door. His face, a suet

Irish to the core his bright blue eyes, curly black hair and lilting brogue guaranteed his surgery was always full. Young girls who frequented one of three pony clubs in the area came in droves to Paddy. Grandmothers brought their canaries while small grubby boys brought scruffy mixed-breed dogs. The tall Irish Vet's natural affinity with animals gained him respect and admiration from whichever age bracket he helped.
Right now good looks or charm didn’t sway me; I had a nasty problem that needed fixing.
Banging on the door to his residence, at last, brought a pyjama clad Vet to the door. His face, a suet pudding full of sleep, mumbled at me,
“Wha'cha.want?”
Cocking a thumb over my shoulder, I indicated the Mini. Paddy stumbled down to the curb and stood knuckling sleep from his eyes.
Somehow, I'd forgotten Bugsy Malone! As the Vet opened the door, one angry black cat shot past him, only to stop as he saw the Vet reach in for the travel box.
“Phew!” He gasped as he opened the lid, “What a stink!”
I didn't need him to tell me what I already knew!
I followed him into his surgery, explaining how I came to be the possessor of such a mess. I might as well have talked to the wall. Paddy O'Rourke had pushed open the swing doors leading into his examining room and disappeared leaving one infuriated Bugsy Malone, who'd not been quick enough,

I can see how this chap feels, what about you? Head aching?" I nodded. Walking back to his dispensary he returned with a glass of water and two tablets. "Here. They’re only Aspirin. You will feel better soon, and so will you Boyo.” This, in his best Irish brogue, was directed at Bugsy, who lay in the crook of the Vets' arm, at last pliant.
"What that poor cat in there is suffering from, and the terrible smell is a toxic weed. Animals, cats mainly can't stay away from the stuff and become addicted like a human drug addict. It has a botanical name a metre long, which is no comfort to our friend in there, who in short has toxic poisoning. He has consumed an amount of a potentially lethal plant, similar in its action to what North American Indians call Locoweed."
Tilting back the coal black head laying limpid in his arms he went on,
"Being as clever as you cats are, you would think you would know when something was dangerous, but no,” Rubbing gently under the black chin he went on, looking at Bugsy Malone, but speaking to