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Why would anyone call their son Barry, when their name was Bottomly? His mother hadn't liked the idea, but his father had said that it was a good name that no-one would forget in a hurry. After all, it would make a man of him, apparently, and Harry Bottomly (the father's name) was almost the same.
When baby Bottomly arrived, the mother changed her mind. She had grown so used to Harry's name that Barry seemed to fit perfectly. ('Harry, Barry, tea's ready!')
Barry's pre-school years were spent in blissful ignorance. He, as an only child, was indulged. Not quite spoiled, just treated well. Harry did not believe in spoiling children. Life had been tough for him as a boy, and it hadn't done him any harm (he imagined), so he thought that his son should be treated the same. Nevertheless, being the single target of both parent's affections was bound to make some difference.

Barry always played quietly on his own, usually building something with toy bricks and the like. His mother, worried that he would become a social outcast, constantly tried to make friends for him by inviting children from the neighbourhood to play. Barry generally played with his toys while whoever was invited around used whatever Barry didn't, and so would eventually get bored and ask to go home, while Barry got back to building his own daydream.
In this way his personality was formed ' Quiet, reserved and interested in making things. He saw no point in videogames. Why was everything being bombed or shot, and for no purpose but to continue to the next level.

At the age of four it was time for school. On his first day, the class was learning to read. He had come in slightly late, due to trouble with his uniform, and missed the first six letters of the alphabet, or, as he, thanks to having missed these letters, would put it: Thu ilphugot.
Later on, they were asked to write the sentence 'I am 4 years old'. He wrote 'I im 4 yuirs olg'. Barry was like that. If he missed something, he would carry on without it, too shy to ask for help. He didn't make any friends, either, as at break-time, he sat at a bench in the playground, doing the unfinished work he had from the lesson.
Sometimes people would come and ask him to play hide-and-seek or football, but he would just say 'No, thank you', and continue quietly. In his first lesson, he had missed registration, but, come lunchtime, he had to go through it.
The teacher read out the names. 'Jack Anderson'
'Here'
'Peter Baker'
He had a lisp, 'Yeth mith'. Everyone laughed.
The teacher shushed them, and looked back down at the page, then looked up again, beckoned the teaching assistant over, and whispered something to him. It sounded to Barry, who sat at the front, like 'Is this the right name?' A few seconds later, she continued: 'Barry Bottomly' Everyone looked at him, some sniggering quietly. 'Yes'

He continued through his primary school years like this, with no friends, sitting reading a book at lunchtime, and by the time he was 11 years old, he was widely known as Big-Bottom Barry.
It wasn't even big.
When he first saw the big gates of his secondary school looming over him, he was scared. He was wearing a wonky tie and a white buttoned shirt, ready to impress the teachers with his smartness.
What he didn't realise was that it was non-uniform day.
When he got to class, the other students all gave him funny looks, as if he was Superman at a Mugger's Convention. He hurriedly sat down, ready for the inevitable pain of registration...