Welcome to the space where I shall be keeping an occasional track of what excites, amuses, inspires and moves me. I love this time of year, autumn, because life surges forward again after the summer lull. Art exhibitions open, concert seasons start, new books pile up, new clothes fill the shops. My Lifeclass column is underway again and already I'm getting into some deep issues like the meaning of life. Telegraph readers have been sharing with me the things that give their life meaning and it's anything from a belief in God and an afterlife to getting a dog. I believe in whatever works to get you out of bed in the morning, preferably with enthusiasm. This time of year I'm amazed each morning by the changing light on the river. Really paying attention to nature is the quickest route to sanity I know.In the country I noticed the path of small rainbows made by wet spiders webs reflecting sunlight on the grass and I watched the new moon changing colour from milk to hard silver to gold. If you are struggling with the meaning of life issue yourself, think small. The thing is too big to be tackled all in one go and sometimes it's enough to look forward to a new magazine or a fresh cup of coffee. I'm lost in Colm Toibin's masterly' book about Henry James, " The Master" - better written than Henry James himself. I was energised by Louise Bourgeois's big retrospective show at Tate Modern and inspired to see how humorous and subversive you can still be in your nineties. There are two offshoot Louise Bourgeois shows - one of prints at Marlborough Graphics in Albemarle Street and new sculpture, wittily made from her own old clothes, at Colnaghi's in Bond Street. A great artist should send you out looking at the world differently and Louise Bourgeois makes the invisible and ordinary into the extraordinary.

Summer blog. Mstislav Rostropovitch, the extraordinary Russian cellist and humanitarian, who died recently, kissed me once. I can say that because he kissed everybody who came into his orbit. You got a big bear hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek and, briefly, were enveloped in a warm gust of human energy, electricity and, something very rare, a blast of history. When Rostropovitch kissed me I went home feeling like an insignificant but glowing member of a great lineage of embraces Rostropovitch and Shostakovitch and Britten and Prokoviev. Every great musician of the 20th century and half of its great world figures like Yeltsin or Solzhenitsin had been wrapped up in that great embrace. I qualified for it by singing, as a member of the London Symphony Chorus, in concerts he conducted, by interviewing him and by being back stage after an extraordinary Shostakovitch concert he had conducted. High with excitement, he called enthusiastically for more vodka and launched into reminiscence in his impenetrable Russian accent, while his wife, the great Russian soprano, Galina Vishnevskaya, waited patiently in the corner. So when the news of his death came on the radio I was surprised to feel personally sad, even diminished. We are very fortunate to meet even one truly exceptional human being in a lifetime and he was one I was lucky to be touched by, in every way.

When I'm not sitting at my desk I need to get out and see what's going on otherwise what is there to write about? I get fresh ideas riding buses, walking the streets, on country walks, in exhibitions, concert halls, theatres, shops and just listening to people talk. And sometimes I need to stop and clear my mind. The right music works to rebalance the mind, so does the right art or a wonderful view. I'm always looking out for what works to keep spirits singing and the mind fresh, to banish blues or calm anxious thoughts. When I find what works for me I'll pass it on to you.

I know I'm happy when I find myself singing. I was on a crowded train this weekend when the little girl next to me started singing out loud, unselfconsciously and happily. Her big brother told her to shut up. Then her mum told her to stop. So she stopped. But it was the sound of happiness and it was making me happy too. I would a million times rather see people singing out loud to themselves than be in their silent iPod worlds.

Another way to be happy is to have something named after you. Friends rang up to tell me they had a new, very elegant chicken in their Yorkshire garden. They've called her Lesley, which cheers me up a lot. While I'm scratching away at my computer in London I know I have a namesake scratching for worms in the Yorkshire Dales. I hope we both lay golden eggs.

What makes you happy? Share it by letting me know and I'll pass it on.