It’s a sunny afternoon and heavyweight champion boxer Tyson Fury is doing chores, while his impeccably groomed wife Paris barbecues dinner for their six kids. OK, she’s grilling a steak the size of a small dog outside their £1.7m Morecambe mansion – but it’s an otherwise normal scene.
The couple have invited Netflix into their domestic lives for At Home With The Furys, a new docuseries that is supposed to do exactly what it says on the tin. But there’s just one problem: the newly retired boxer isn’t satisfied. Or as he puts it: “I’d rather get punched the f*** out of me by 10 world champions than stay at home for a week and have to do all these jobs.” Oh dear. Netflix don’t seem to have realised that the lead star being bored isn’t the best starting point for a series about family life. And yet, as At Home With The Furys unfolds, I found myself unexpectedly empathising with Fury – but the show has a long way to go before reaching the dramatic heights of its reality TV predecessors.
