Lipstick and Pucker Up banner design

The snow came over the Cadder pass on Tuesday and has not let up since, so I am writing this at the back table of the Crown with my gloves still on and Mrs Pryce's tea going cold at my elbow. The landlord has shut the taproom door against the draughts and lit every lamp he owns. The commercial travellers stranded with me have stopped complaining about their trains and started playing rummy for matches.

You will want to hear about the lipstick. I found it in the drawer of the room they gave me, a tube of Vermilion Rose used down to a stub and wrapped in a strip of printed cloth, a banner with PUCKER UP cut into it in letters somebody had clearly drawn with great care. Above it, on the paper lining, someone had sketched a little cloud full of stars, as if the sky itself had been asked to approve. I laughed out loud, which startled the girl bringing up the coal. I have decided it is a message from the previous guest, whoever she was, and I intend to take its advice.

So I sat before the cracked mirror and did as I was told, though my hand shook like a schoolgirl's. The result was rather splendid. Mr Abney, who sells corsets and has been sulking since Tuesday, looked up from his cards and said that the Crown had never seen such a colour in winter.

When the snowplough's bell finally rang on the hill road this morning, I was still sitting here, waiting to see whether anyone would notice. Write soon, and tell me whether the Easter dance went ahead without me.

Your loving sister, Dot