I'M officially over hygge. Ditto its so-called Scottish equivalent coorie. Don't bother to @ me on Twitter about it. I won't budge on this. You may as well howl into the wind.

Nope, I have found my new happy place: kalsarikannit. Coined in Finland, it is defined as "drinking at home alone in your underwear with no intention of going out". From the words kalsari and kanni – meaning "underpants" and "state of inebriation" – kalsarikannit is literally "pantsdrunk".

Unlike hygge, which on these shores has mutated from the idea of being gently kind to yourself during the dark winter months into an aggressive interior design concept used to flog impractical cream rugs and expensive cashmere throws, kalsarikannit is an ode to proper relaxation.

We've all had nights where we can't be bothered dressing-up or even venturing from the sofa, yet still fancy a couple of beers or a glass of wine. That's where pantsdrunk comes in.

Anyone who is a fan of pregaming – a few drinks in the house as you get ready before heading out to a bar or club – will agree that it is often the best part of the evening. Which begs the question: why get dressed and leave the comfort of your home at all?

I give you exhibit A: Trussed up in your best duds, shelling out eye-watering sums for a round of drinks, navigating sticky pub floors and the long, snaking line for toilets that are sloshing ankle-deep in urine, then playing Russian roulette with hypothermia as you weep over Uber surcharges.

Next let me present exhibit B: Wearing your oldest, baggiest and comfiest underwear while ensconced snugly on the couch, sipping a favourite tipple procured from a budget supermarket, safe in the knowledge there's a queue-free loo and your lovely warm bed – no taxi needed – only steps away.

A word to the wise: don't forget that you have an online delivery arriving. Leaping from an armchair like a scalded cat then running around attempting to throw on clothes while resembling a Y-front clad Homer Simpson isn't advised when your co-ordination is at best, a tad sluggish.

To be fair, the courier didn't bat an eyelid. He simply handed over the squiggle pad thing to be signed, gave a small salute and sauntered off with untroubled expression of someone who had seen it all before. Which I imagine he has. And then some.

Still, it is not difficult to see how pantsdrunk has evolved from the harsh Finnish winters where repeatedly donning multiple layers of clothing to head outdoors into a freezing hellmouth of ice and slush must feel like a right old slog.

Scotland is no stranger to gloomy grey days and bone-chilling temperatures itself. The biggest issue is the difference in cultural attitudes. In Finland, pantsdrunk is seen as a commitment to self-care. Here, well-meaning friends may attempt an intervention.

Crucially, though, pantsdrunk is not about getting hammered. Rather the focus is on taking time for yourself and ignoring the nagging FOMO – fear of missing out – that engulfs so much of life.

If hygge is snuggling under a hand-knitted blanket in front of a crackling log fire with a mug of artisan hot chocolate, then pantsdrunk is watching trashy telly while cuddling a variety pack of Monster Munch.

Pantsdrunk isn't meant to pretty. It is the antithesis of the digital tsunami of contrived Instagrammable moments – and that's the whole point. Pantsdrunk is about letting go, kicking back and being authentic: no dewy filters or airbrushing necessary.

Thanks for nothing

STOCKING up ahead of Valentine's Day, Poundland has knocked it out of the park this year. Among the usual vomit-like mess of soppy tat – cellophane-wrapped plastic roses, chocolates and cuddly toys – there can be found a curious heart-shaped item dubbed the "Gift of Nothing".

It does exactly what it said on the tin: completely empty packaging. Environmental groups weren't slow to voice their disgust at the "pointless" plastic waste as the discount retailer insisted that the novelty item – priced at £1, naturally – was just "a bit of fun".

Well, yes and no. The messaging is akin to lobbing a Molotov cocktail and sitting back to watch your relationship burst into flames. It reads: "Nothing! Exactly what you asked for!" Is there a more passive-aggressive gift tagline? You would be hard pushed to find it.

Imagine the lightbulb moment in shop aisles across the country as beleaguered other halves, having done their best in the gift-giving department over the years – aka that never-used foot spa gathering dust in the loft – finally sense, if not victory, then certainly vindication within tantalising reach.

Dicing with bad taste

ALTHOUGH "nothing" isn't the worst thing to go on sale this week. That dubious honour goes to an eBay seller hawking what was labelled "Prince Philip car crash parts", phrasing that conjures a discomfiting image similar to when things went badly awry for Mr Potato Head in Toy Story.

The apparent star graduate from the Del Boy and Rodney Trotter School of Entrepreneurs attempted to offload three pieces of plastic claimed to have been scavenged from the scene of the Duke of Edinburgh's car accident near the Sandringham estate in Norfolk last week.

The eBay listing said it "may even have Phil's DNA on it, if you wanted to clone him". Now there's a thing. If they ever perfect that technology, I'll be first in line to rustle up a duplicate Ben Owen from Channel 4's Hunted.

Unfortunately for anyone hoping to play Frankenstein, the post – with bids already totalling £65,900 – was swiftly removed by eBay in line with its "policy relating to the sale of any item that seeks to profit from human suffering or tragedy". There's a moral in there somewhere.