A FIRE is roaring in the grate and we are sipping malt whisky. Next to me on the sofa, his big noble head in my lap, is Dougal, the most gentle of chocolate labradors. His owners Fiona and Peter are close friends of mine and we’re all cosied up in their remote cottage on the Isle of Harris, tartan rugs and hot water bottles keeping us toasty, munching on chocolates and marvelling at the natural beauty we shared earlier while walking on Luskentyre beach. Outside, the night is clear and the stars put on a dazzling show across the Hebridean sky. All is calm and right in our little world.

This feeling of contentment, experienced in the bleak midwinter of last January, is as close as I can imagine to what the Danes would refer to as “hygge”, the Scandinavian cosiness phenomenon taking the world by storm this winter.

And just as a couple of years ago, no media mention of Denmark came without reference to Scandi-noir thriller The Killing, this time it’s all about the hygge. Nobody who’s been Christmas shopping in the last few weeks could have missed the influence of the concept, even if they can’t pronounce the word itself (it’s apparently something along the lines of “hoo-guh”), since it’s being used to sell everything from fluffy socks, woolly jumpers, throws and cushions to dining tables, candles, pyjamas, roast dinners, expensive cupcakes and mulled wine.

Hygge, winter and Christmas are retailers' dream triumvirate. Go to the home departments of John Lewis, Next or even Primark and you’ll be bombarded with co-ordinated ranges of products, often evoking nature (ideally winter and nature), all set up to look as warm and comfy as possible. Supermarkets, too, from Waitrose to Iceland, have been quick to get in on the act by filling their stores and free magazines with pleasing pictures of steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and tastefully lit tables almost collapsing under the weight of the comfort foods that will nourish and sustain you and your loved ones through the dark nights ahead – even if they’re straight from the freezer rather than lovingly prepared by your own hand.

Bookshops, meanwhile, overflow with prettily decorated volumes giving us step-by-step guides on how to fill our lives with hygge, all illustrated throughout with glossy pictures of beautiful, healthy-looking Danes wearing woolly jumpers and bobble hats, smiling fondly at their rosy-cheeked children.

You get the picture: cosy, it seems, is well and truly in. But what does all this actually have to do with Scandinavian culture? And why now? Also, does hygge’s journey to the UK mainstream represent a worthwhile dissemination of something valid or simply a cynical misappropriation of another culture?

In theory, the English translation of the Danish word is pretty straightforward. Hygge made it into more than one of this year’s "words of the year" lists (alongside the likes of Brexit, post-truth, Trumpism and alt-right, more of which later) and has been defined by Collins English Dictionary as “a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality”. Aha. So, that’s where the soft furnishings, mulled wine and low-lighting come in, alongside the millions of #hygge posts and pictures on Instagram and Twitter featuring everything from scarves and gloves to autumn leaves.

In Danish culture, there appears to be more to hygge than simply kitting out your home and filling your fridge, however. For Danes, who in common with the other Nordic countries experience some of the longest, darkest winters, the concept is altogether deeper, more instinctual and intangible. It is part of life from childhood and essentially represents the ability to take pleasure from the presence of soothing people and objects, to create and enjoy intimacy, to nourish your soul with simple things. Rather than the furry throw, hygge is the feeling it creates for you and your loved one cuddled up under it; it’s not just the taste of the food, but the enjoyment of sharing it with close friends. It's not only the changing of the seasons, it's the appreciation of simple natural interactions, such as walking in the winter sunshine.

Apparently the noun "hygge" is rarely used in day to day conversation – rather, things, places and situations are described as “hyggeligt”, the adjectival form of the word. So, you’re staying in with your boyfriend or girlfriend to snuggle up on the impossibly cool Danish sofa with a box-set and fondue? Maximum hyggeligt.

Clever marketeers will always tap into the zeitgeist, of course. And when that zeitgeist happens to be overwhelmed by political and social upheaval and grave uncertainty about the future, it's no surprise that retailers are queueing up to sell us the idea and promise of comfort. It just happens that most Scandinavian countries have specific words to describe it – (hygge in Danish, mys in Swedish, koselig in Norwegian. In Germany, meanwhile, they have Gemutlichkeit). So, as advertisers and the media in the current climate stampede to cater for/exploit our wish to embrace the simple things in life, which the market has decreed will be soft furnishings and food, it’s all too easy to roll one’s eyes.

But in a year many believe to have been memorably hideous – Slate Magazine just published an article questioning whether 2016 is the worst year ever in history – it’s understandable that many of us are ready and willing to take the hygge bait and spend copious amounts of money on candles and chocolate cake. Too much thought about the events that have shaped the last 12 months – the aforementioned Brexit, the rise of Trumpism, the alt-right and post-truth politics is just the start – certainly makes me want to lock the door, shut the blinds and hide under a faux fur throw. And with many of us still feeling the pinch financially after years of austerity, suffering frozen wage packets, zero-hours contracts, reduced working conditions and no pension provision, hygge can seem like an attractive 21st-century version of battening down the hatches.

Staying in, of course, means not going out. And that means saving money on all the associated costs of restaurants, bars and taxis; which then gives you more money to spend on candles, luxury pyjamas, takeaways and chocolate cake. The high street is only giving us what we appear to want. And what's wrong with wanting to be like the cosy Danes?

There is a downside, according to Copenhagen-based journalist Clemens Bomsdorf, a German who has lived in Denmark since 2005.

“It’s interesting,” he tells me. “Of course, Danish style is renowned around the world, and the interior design in people’s homes and restaurants and cafes is mostly beautiful, often imbued with a sense of hygge.

“But for me hygge also has to do with exclusion. It’s about staying at home and lighting candles, sitting in armchairs and reading books, chatting with your closest friends and family. This is all very nice, but it’s not something you would invite other people to take part in. It’s exclusive – it’s about locking yourself in.

“And it means there is perhaps less of the individuality that you see in places like the UK and Germany, even if that means the surroundings are a bit loud or vulgar. In Scandinavia, everything looks pretty much the same.”

Bomsdorf says hygge can also impact on how Danes interact with other people.

“The Danes are very friendly but it’s a different sort of openness to what you may be used to in other countries. It typically takes a long time to be invited to a friend’s house.

"I recently had a friend from Rome visiting me in Copenhagen. We had dinner and were discussing friendships. She asked how long it had taken for my closest Danish friend, who I have known for a long time, to invite me to his house. She couldn’t’ believe it when I said five years. We had been out a lot and he had been to my house many times – but he never invited me to his.”

Earlier this year, Denmark took the top spot in the United Nations’ Happiness Report, a feat it has achieved three times in the last five. Unsurprisingly, many commentators are keen to link this to hygge, highlighting the value Danes put on family time, a pleasant home environment and the enjoyment of food. I can’t help but think the societal equality, low crime rates and particularly generous welfare state are also relevant, but I see what they're saying. This appears to fly in the face of statistics highlighting that, on a more alarming note, Denmark’s suicide rate is among the highest in the world.

Could these two statistics be linked, I wonder? Could it be that some of those committing suicide feel, as pointed out by Bomsdorf, excluded from the hygge they see created in the society all around them and the associated feeling of isolation eventually drives them to end their lives? I have no proof for this, but can't help but think there may be a connection.

It seems the happy hygge being sold to us in the UK is more complex than meets the eye after all. With this in mind, maybe we in Scotland, a country that has much in common with our Nordic neighbours in terms of size, climate and the length of our winters, are in the ideal position to create our own version of the concept. Perhaps we even have a word for it already: “coorie”, as in “come and coorie in here, pet”, a phrase used by kindly Scottish grandmothers, including my own, for generations. The very thought has just filled me with the most wonderful feeling of warmth and nostalgia; as I write this I can almost feel the wool of my beloved Nanna’s pleated tweed skirt and smell the Ponds Cold Cream she used on her face. I am immediately transported back to a feeling of comfort and security experienced 35 years ago.

When you think about it, Scotland already has a fantastic head-start on creating innate cosiness – our malt whiskies, Harris Tweeds and tartan rugs have been keeping people warm for as long as anyone can remember. The Scottish tourist industry already relies on such staples in winter, of course, but perhaps a rebranding, complete with prettily decorated books on how to achieve the look and feel of coorie in your own home, would attract even more visitors during the down season?

And maybe it would give Scots the opportunity to embrace the hospitality they are famous for. I can’t help but think our coorie would instinctively be more inclusive in nature than hygge. When we send our version of the phenomenon out into the world, I think we will want to extend the most open invitation possible. Most Scots simply can’t help themselves from inviting the world into their homes, even when we don't mean to. Think of the way in which our New Year traditions have been embraced by so many other cultures, how people travel from all over the world to experience a Scottish Hogmanay. Seriously, I think coorie could have a promising future in the global marketplace.

Perhaps this time next year, the big department stores and bookshops will be filled with coorie, and Scotland will have stolen Denmark’s crown as the cosiest nation on earth.

Or maybe 2017 will be such a happy and wonderful year that we will have no further need for such concepts. I would love to think this could happen – surely after 2016 we all deserve a break? – but if not, at least we can all coorie in.