One of the things that endears me to my birthplace of Liverpool is love. Not just in the sense that I love the place, but in the north of England - and the north-west in particular - the word "love" is widespereadly used as a term of endearment.

And it doesn't matter whether you're a stranger or a member of the family; you will be called "love." In shops, in service stations, in the market, in the pub, everywhere.

I was reminded of this in bulk the other morning when I went off to the local health centre at dawn for a blood test. The nurse who admitted me said, "Hello love, come in. You're an early bird aren't you?" And then pointed down the corridor saying, "Second door on the left love."

I went into the room where two other nurses were gearing up for the day's work. One of them said, "Hello love, come in. There you go," she pointed, "Take a seat love."

I sat down. "Now," she said, "Have you got your forms love?" I gave her the paperwork from the GP. Meanwhile an elderly gent came in and the second nurse said the same sort of things to him, "Hello love, are you alright?" etc. All of this in a Merseyside accent, which, although it has the potential to demolish buildings when used inappropriately, for me at least is one of the most caring dialects in the world, and was surely invented for the medical profession.

"Roll your sleeve up love," the nurse said to me. "Are you alright with blood love?" she asked, meaning was I squeamish. I manned up and said I was fine, upon which she checked the GP's form and wrapped a velcro pad round my arm to reveal the vein. "Just a little p****love," she said, but I resisted any witty response.

Two minutes later and it was all done, and the nurse got me to hold a piece of cotton wool on my arm while she taped it on. "Leave that on for half an hour love, OK?"

I assured her I would and put my jersey back on. "Alright love, the results should be with your doctor on Thursday."

And off I went. As I drove back to where Liz and I are staying I pondered how universally useful, how charming and how disarming such a simple word as love is.

A few days later, with my mates Shaun and Brian, I learned that the term of endearment could be elevated to a higher level, with the addition of the posessive "My", as in the barmaid saying to me as she handed me the brimful pints, "There you are my love..."

Suddenly I was not jist a love, but her love. She gave me the change: "Fifty, seventy, five pounds my love, thank you."

I know that some people - especially those not from around here - can find it strange and even intrusive to be called love or my love by a perfect stranger, but it's something I grew up with, and something only now I realise I have missed for many many years. Something in fact that I have grown to love.

As The Beatles said: it's all you need.