WE DO love a good Scandinavian trend, don’t we? From dark TV drama, littered with quietly anguished police officers and dead bodies, to the cosy and unpronounceable hygge, we Scots embrace it all.

The latest craze – although that is perhaps too frenetic a word to use – to lighten our winter days, is Swedish death cleaning.

Far from as dark as it sounds, Swedish death cleaning is a life-affirming, thoroughly satisfying activity, especially if you are the kind of person who organises their bookshelves alphabetically and enjoys clearing out cupboards.

Known as Döstädning in its native tongue, it is a process by which the people, such as the elderly and their families, set their affairs in order.

Driven by a desire to shed unnecessary things to make life as joyful and simple as possible, it could mean something as small as setting up a system so you stop misplacing your keys, or something as big as downsizing into a smaller home and sorting out your family heirlooms.

The aim is to make your later years as comfortable and as stress-free as possible, and death cleaning will also remove the burden on those who come after you - as they will not have boxes of stuff of questionable value to sort out after you are gone.

We have Margareta Magnusson to thank, mostly, for introducing us to it.

She is a Swedish artist, who says she is “somewhere between the age of 80 and 100”.

Margareta has death cleaned for herself and for many others, so she has written and illustrated a lovely little guide, called The Gentle Art of Scandinavian Death Cleaning, all about how to do it.

It is moving and funny - so much so in places, that you think she might just be gently kidding with us all and our obsession with this kind of thing.

Her top tips include starting the de-cluttering with something other than photos or letters, as you will just spend hours distracted by old memories and not get a thing done; and throwing away hideous presents as soon as you get them, instead of putting them on display when the gift giver comes to visit (it only encourages them).

(The Swedish even have a word, fulskap, for the 'cupboard full of gifts you can't stand to look at, but which are impossible to re-gift.')

Death cleaning is not just for the old – as Magnusson says: “Sometimes you just realise that you can hardly close your drawers or barely shut your cupboard door. When that happens, it is definitely time to do something, even if you are only in your thirties.”

The book might be tongue in cheek and easy to dismiss, but it is surprisingly touching and has much to say about the value of owning less and sharing more.

It struck a chord with Elaine Morris, self-confessed clutter-hater, who lives in the East Renfrewshire village of Eaglesham with her husband Jim, son Lachlan and daughter Bonnie.

“I get uneasy around mess,” she admits. “I can’t relax if I’m surrounded by clutter – even in other people’s houses. It makes me want to get up and start tidying.”

Her home is admirably tidy, given there are two young children living in it. “I don’t keep the kids’ toys in the living room, I like drawers and cupboards to be organised, and I just refuse to keep stuff, like everything the kids have ever made or drawn, old birthday cards,” says Morris, firmly.

“I’ll regularly clear out old toys and junk – I don’t throw it away, I’ll give it to the local charity shop or jumble sale, unless it’s broken, in which case, out it goes.”

Morris adds: “The idea of death cleaning absolutely appeals to me. I read this book and thought – this is me.”

For Morris, the desire to keep life well-organised, is not a new phenomenon. Even as a child, she loved to clear up.

“My room was always tidy - I’ve been like this since I was very young,” she acknowledges with a laugh. “Did I get it from my mother? Absolutely not. She is the complete opposite. When we were children, the house was always full of stuff. I’m sure she still has things belonging to my brother and I.

“My daughter is a real hoarder too. Her room is a mess. Thankfully, her bedroom is at the end of our hallway, so I don’t have to walk past it very often.

“When I do go in and ask her if she thinks it is acceptable, she just shrugs. She just doesn’t see it.”

Morris softens. “I am not completely heartless,” she laughs. “I have two keepsake boxes, one for Bonnie, one for Lachlan, with newspaper clippings and mementoes that are really special.

“I liked the idea of the ‘throwaway box’ that is talked about in the book, a collection of stuff you want to keep, but which will really only mean something to you, so it can just be thrown away by your kids without them having to look into it.”

She explains: “It’s like photographs, for example – I do keep some, but pictures trigger different memories for different people. We all have different experiences of the same event, like a holiday – so what might be a lovely thing to keep for me, might bring back negative memories for someone else.

“I have already said to my kids, who are still quite young, that we will make up separate albums of the photos they want to take with them when they move out.”

Reading Magnusson’s book has made Morris consider the future, she thinks. In Sweden, death cleaning helps families broach a difficult subject in a softer way.

“It’s not something we talk about, as a family, not yet,” she says, slowly. “But of course, I don’t want my kids to have to go through all my leftover stuff when I die. It’s such a heart-wrenching thing to do, at the worst time.

“Do they really need to keep my cutlery? Of course not. When we get to the stage of having those conversations, I will just tell them to keep what they want, and bin the rest.”

Morris’s husband Jim is of like mind when it comes to clutter, she says. “I think we would drive each other crazy if not,” she muses. “He has always been very minimalist when it comes to décor. He left home at 16 to attend forestry college and had to live in a small, one-bedroom flat, so he had to keep it tidy.

“But I think I’m worse than him now. I like caravan-thinking, the clever use of space to make sure everything has a place, and nothing is wasted. Clothes in the wardrobe, books in the kitchen - I don’t make more space when I get new ones, I just clear out the old ones to make room.”

She adds: “My friends know what I’m like. I don’t make a big deal of it. Sometimes I am envious of people who don’t care about mess - I wish I could see it and accept it and relax. But I really can’t.”

The idea of ‘letting go’ and not holding on to things for the sake of it, is central to Magnusson’s book. Morris adds: “It should probably work both ways, though, shouldn’t it? As well as letting go of stuff, we should be able to relax about having it too.”

“Maybe there is a line – perhaps it’s okay to have a bit of clutter.”

She sounds unconvinced.

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, by Margareta Magnusson, published by Canongate, is available now.