Sometimes, as a freelance writer, you need to live spherically and think laterally.

Being a travel writer will not make you rich.
In fact, most of the time, it's quite the opposite - sitting under a tree eating walnuts.

If I didn't enjoy single malt so much I could probably live quite comfortably as a writer.
But I do.
So I can't.
Which means coming up with ingenious ideas to raise capital.
When I moved to New Zealand I bought a big old house on the river with a lot of spare rooms. So I opened a B&B, and for the most part it's been euphemistically interesting.
The thing with having so many people stay in your house is eventually something will go wrong or something quite ridiculous will happen.
I had two nuns staying with me.
They were from Australia and were here for a conference about Sister Mary Clarence or similar.
I didn't know they were nuns until later.

The guests have four rooms to choose from and I don't care where they sleep. Their part of the house is completely separate from mine.
They could have a wild orgy and I wouldn't hear a thing.
Not that nuns have wild orgies.
Or so I thought...
Anyways, I was packing for a hike down on the South Island's Franz Josef Glacier so I gave them the uber-quick tour of the house.
Nun 1 picked the master suite with the king bed and views of the river opening onto the terrace.
Lovely.
Nun 2 picked the tiniest room with a monstrous penis-shaped mirror.
It wasn't until I was standing in that confined space with the two holy sisters that I realised I had a giant reflective cock on my wall.
I blushed and apologised for the decor.
I blushed even more when Nun 2 removed her bible from her overnight bag and put it on the nightstand.
"Are you sure you want to stay in this room,"? I asked.
"Quite sure," she replied.