Some of the Scot's burrs were so thick that I had no idea what they were saying. I kept having to say pardon or excuse me and then they'd have to repeat it. The husband's approach is to nod his head in agreement, make noises like hmmm and speak words such as right and really.
The Scots were friendly folks except for this old crotchety security guard at the immigration office who acted as if we were terrorists bent on destruction. The locals didn't seem to mind repeating themselves to the obviously dimwitted Americans who can't manage to comprehend the English language. The attorney even offered to "translate" after a conversation with one of the immigration officers who was processing our paperwork, so they realize outsiders sometimes have difficulty with their version of English.
We didn't get to see much of Scotland except the airport, which was a shame. It was about 10 degrees colder up there, so I'm glad I don't have to hang around as we move into winter. Thankfully, this tedious and aggravating process is complete. We have been granted UK visas extending for three more years.
Now you give it a try and see if you can understand what this Glaswegian gentleman is saying.