Please use the sharing tools found via the share button at the top or side of articles. Copying articles to share with others is a breach of FT.com T&Cs and Copyright Policy. Email firstname.lastname@example.org to buy additional rights. Subscribers may share up to 10 or 20 articles per month using the gift article service. More information can be found here.
She has remained endearingly constant in her irreverence in the decades after, never losing her partialness to a bit of smut. “I probably haven’t changed much,” she confirms, sitting in her studio. “I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.” Grey hair loose, large eyes beaming, Lucas is wearing a blue striped shirt with red bra poking out, trainers with neon-green socks and some extravagantly customised, patchworked jeans, which once belonged to her partner, the photographer Julian Simmons (“until he got fat”). Her workspace is a former village hall she took over a few years ago; until then, she worked solely at home, a few miles away, in the cottage formerly owned by Benjamin Britten that she shares with Simmons.