I never expected to spend my weekends and evenings talking about homelessness to tens of thousands of strangers on trains, ferry wharfs, cafés and in parks.

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I'm not part of a charity. I'm not a social worker. I'm just an ordinary bloke who saw a crisis unfolding in front of us - and couldn't look away.

The turning point came when I attended a songwriting workshop last year and a participant, a doctor, said she was alarmed at the increasing number of homeless women and children.

I promised to help, remembering when I once saw an elderly woman with whipped cream on her face and initially thought it humorous, until realising she had been looking in a rubbish bin for food.

While I have a day job, I wanted to help create awareness. So, I gathered more than 50 volunteer composers, singers and musicians to record a song called Homeless at ABC's studios in Sydney, which has since notched up more than 28 radio plays. However, a security guard at the building casually said to me, "Ninety per cent of homeless people are junkies." He wasn't being cruel; he genuinely believed it. And that's when it hit me: a big barrier to solving homelessness is misunderstanding.

Because the truth is very different. The fastest-growing group of homeless Australians is elderly women experiencing financial stress due to the increased cost of living, and younger women and their children escaping domestic violence. Many have worked their whole lives. Many raised families. Many never imagined they'd be sleeping in cars, couch surfing, or lining up for emergency accommodation that often doesn't exist.

And in regional Australia, the situation is even tougher. There are fewer jobs and fewer support services. When a woman in Dubbo, Wagga, Tamworth or Launceston needs help, she can't just "go somewhere else". There is little else.

One of our volunteers, a singer who joined the project, put it perfectly: "It is........

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