Speculations Surround the Anchor Brew Tower A Toast to Industry or a Prelude to Gentrification?

Blethergate Rookery—Festivities abounded last week in Blethergate and Cuddy Neuk, as throngs of revelers gathered to mark the inauguration of the newly erected Anchor Brew Tower, a monument to hops, ambition, and commercial spectacle. Perched defiantly atop the cliffs of Cuddy Neuk, the structure—commissioned by the city’s beloved Anchor Brewery—has quickly become the most visible addition to the working-class skyline. The opening day was greeted with cheers, mugs held aloft, and laughter echoing down cobbled lanes. And rightly so—for Anchor Brew is no stranger to the people of Inverportshire. Its ales, stouts, and lagers are daily staples among dockworkers and clerks alike, fuelling the city’s labour and leisure in equal measure. Few were surprised that the brewery chose Cuddy Neuk, a borough famed for boasting more public houses per street than churches, as the site for its flagship advertisement campaign. The Anchor Brew Tower, standing at eight stories and crowned with a copper weathervane shaped like a foaming tankard, offers sweeping views of the city’s industrial heart. Residents queued to ascend its viewing platform, where free samples and a brass band awaited. Yet not all was mirth and merriment. Beneath the froth of celebration lie whispers of concern. Locals have taken notice of a curious pattern of land acquisition by the brewery in recent months. Several surrounding properties were purchased quietly, and the sudden appearance of a luxury residence—complete with stained glass, stone fencing, and imported gas lighting—has stirred unease. “First it’s a tower,” muttered one elderly resident of Cuddy Neuk, “then it’s our homes next.” Fears of rising rents, forced evictions, and “prestige projects” aimed at wealthier outsiders have taken hold, particularly among those whose livelihoods are bound to the docks and factories nearby. Anchor Brewery, when pressed for comment, assured the public that property purchases were made “to ensure unobstructed views of the tower.” A peculiar justification, critics argue, which offers little comfort to tenants watching unfamiliar names appear on their rent slips. The City’s Department of Urban Development has defended the project, citing its potential to attract tourists from across the metropolitan region. “The tower may well revitalise local commerce,” said Alderman Beechcroft, “and introduce a new chapter of prosperity for Blethergate and its environs.” But not all are convinced. The famously sharp-tongued residents of Cuddy Neuk have already coined a nickname for the tower: “The Drunk Cock”, a reference both to its shape and its perceived arrogance. Whether uttered in jest or protest, the term has swiftly caught on. For now, the Anchor Brew Tower gleams on the cliffside, casting its long shadow over the rowhouses below. Is it a bold tribute to working-class pride, or the first symbol of a new, encroaching class?