Our flavoured gin is crafted with skill,
By a coven of elders with voices so shrill,
They read from a spellbook by the light of the moon,
Stirring their cauldrons with a gnarled wooden spoon.
Ingredients they use are odd to be sure,
With nettle and chilli (and the odd monkey paw),
Taste them but once and you’ll shriek with delight,
Enslaved to them forever – a creature of the night
Take a look into the Black Lodge Potions Journals and Blogs to find out what we are up to.
If you’d like to sample some of our traditional style or flavoured gins before you buy, then the Black Lodge’s mad monks will be appearing in person at a number of festivals near you in the coming weeks and months.
Sign up to our mailing list to see where we’ll be next, and make sure you stop by and have a Djinn and tonic with us.
Greetings, foul friends! Another lunar cycle has been and gone since we last saw you, and what a beauty it was. The Super Blue Moon on the 19th meant the moon was 100% illuminated, which sent the Lodge’s werewolves into a frenzy. You know when you see little dogs get “the zoomies” and they run around like they’re possessed? Imagine that but with six burly werewolves. It’s taken us days...
Greetings, foul friends! Well, the rain dance we performed on the summer solstice appears to have worked a little too well, as it’s barely stopped raining since. Isn’t it delightful?! And, as it’s August, that means it’s officially less than a hundred days to Halloween, so we’re as happy as a worm in a cemetery this month.
Greetings, foul friends! Brother G here. As you may recall from last month’s journal entry, we were doing our best to try and learn more about you humans and your interests. Amongst The Black Lodge's cast of oddities, no one matched Brother T’s unbridled enthusiasm for the football experiment. However, owing to an unfortunate accident involving a two-footed tackle, an angry werewolf, and an ill-judged remark about the referee’s eyesight,...
Greetings, foul friends! Somehow, we’re halfway through your human calendar year already. Of course, that’s just the blink of an eye to immortals like us, but Madame Anathema has been encouraging us to integrate more with our human customers, so we’ve been practising saying things like, “Ooh, where has this year gone?!”
Greetings, foul friends! We confess we really aren’t in the mood to write this month’s diary entry. You see, we’ve just come back from a rather delightful time hunting for sasquatch in the Colorado Rockies and we’re still in what you humans call ‘holiday mode.’
Greetings, foul friends! Welcome to the most nauseating six months of the year; spring has firmly sprung, the days are getting longer, the weather is getting hotter, and evenings are getting brighter...
Greetings, foul friends! Once again, it’s time to sharpen the feather gifted to us by Poe the Raven and use it to scratch our thoughts in the Black Lodge’s journal...
Greetings, foul friends! If you’re reading this, let us congratulate you on surviving the time vortex that is January. You are stout of heart, and we respect that. But wait! What fresh Devilry is this? No sooner have we escaped the vortex than we’re being thrown right back in! Who had an extra day on their 2024 bingo card?
Welcome back, friends! We trust that you had a pleasant (urgh, such a *cheerful* word) holiday season? We at the Lodge rang in the new year in our time-honoured traditional way - drinking lots of flavoured gin, eating wheels upon wheels of cheese, and burning an effigy of Mariah Carey to repel her for another 11 months. She always finds a way of returning earlier and earlier each year, though…
Welcome, friends, to the final Black Lodge journal entry of the year, and what a year it has been. Black Lodge Potions are now available in more places than ever, our gins have won another prestigious award, and we’ve managed to break our shackles on more than one occasion (despite The Master’s best efforts) to meet you in person at events up and down the country. For all that and...
Now that the spooky season is sadly behind us and we’ve all openly enjoyed watching effigies of a certain Mr Fawkes burn on huge fires (ahhh, just like the good old days), Brother G and Brother T have turned their attention to the upcoming end of year festivities.
That’s right, the spooky season has descended upon us once more, dear friends; even Bartholemew the Ghost, the Lodge’s resident harbinger of doom, has managed to crack a smile in recent weeks.
