Shoe design sounds obscure, international and glamorous. I can almost imagine a Jackie Collins character being a shoe designer with a spot of espionage on the side. Here are some working titles for airport novels about my life: "Mystery in Bologna". "The Lady is a Vamp'.  Or more teasingly still...'Sole Survivor'.

But the reality is actually, physically, the antithesis of glamour. Glamour is walking through an airport with a Celine shoulder bag wearing a cashmere play suit and having a  Brazilian modern dance student called Juan trailing one simple bit of Vuitton and carrying the coffee while he nuzzles your weary neck in the customs line. Instead I am alone and my bags weigh more than 19 weeks of grocery shopping laced with bricks. SHOES. ARE. HEAVY. I am not wafting through Europe with silk scarf samples. I am hauling boots and heels and leathers and gorgeous hard boxes. I am essentially a designer pack horse.

And showing my wares is also a tiny bit...odd. At my ten minute meeting with a big retailer I found myself scrambling on the carpeted floor unpacking suitcases of shoes. Where was Juan!

I think it is a particularly Aussie trait to do it yourself and think you can do it all. But I know I need a shoe handler and perhaps there is someone out there with a very strong lower back and a fetish. Free ballet flats to the genius who can find me luggage that accommodates a zillion pairs of shoes and looks cool.