A bug hotel is one of the most rewarding things you can build from what is already lying about in the shed. Done properly, it turns a dull corner of the garden into a busy little neighbourhood of solitary bees, ladybirds, lacewings and earwigs — and it costs you nothing but a Saturday morning.
Most of our garden insects are solitary. The red mason bee does not live in a hive with thousands of others; she seeks out a single tube, roughly 6–10mm across, closed at one end, dry inside and warmed by the morning sun. Ladybirds and lacewings want something different again: a tight, dark crevice where they can overwinter without being picked off by birds.
Modern gardens are often tidy to a fault. Old fence posts get replaced, dead stems get cut down, leaf litter goes in the green bin, and with it goes the housing stock. A bug hotel is simply a way of putting some of that back deliberately, in one sturdy, weatherproof block that will not blow apart in a February gale.
Fix it firmly. A hotel that sways or rattles in the wind will be abandoned, however nicely it is packed.
Almost everything you need is already on site or in the garage. Collect a good mix before you start building, so you can fill each chamber properly rather than improvising at the end.
Leave out anything painted, varnished or chemically treated, and avoid glass jars and plastic bottles. They look charming in photographs and turn into condensation traps in practice.
Lay a pallet flat on firm, level ground, or on two bricks if the soil is heavy. Stack a second pallet on top, sliding bricks or slabs between the layers to create solid spacer blocks and horizontal gaps. Aim for a block roughly 60cm square and 60–80cm tall — big enough to hold several different habitats, small enough to stay rigid.
If you would rather not use pallets, build a simple open-fronted box from pallet wood, nailed or screwed together, and divide the inside into chambers of assorted sizes using bricks and offcuts. Vary the chambers: some narrow slots, some wide cavities, some deep hollows.
Cap it with a roof that overhangs by at least 10cm at the front and sides, sloping gently forward so rain runs off rather than soaking into the stems. A strip of roofing felt or a piece of damp-proof membrane under the slate adds years to its life.
Think of the finished hotel as a row of flats, each suited to a different tenant. Pack each chamber tightly — loose material shifts, and shifting material lets in draughts and damp.
Do not cram moss or fabric into every gap. Leave a few air pockets, and keep the front of the hotel open so you can inspect it.
Resist the urge to tidy in autumn. Leave it alone through winter, when solitary bees are overwintering as larvae inside the stems and ladybirds are tucked into the crevices. Moving or dismantling the hotel between October and March does far more harm than good.
In April, have a look at what has happened. You should see neat plugs of mud or chewed leaf sealing some of the tubes — a sure sign that mason or leafcutter bees have moved in. Replace any stems that have gone mouldy or crumbled, and clear heavy cobwebs from the entrances. Swap the hollow stems every second or third year, as they degrade and can harbour parasites.
Keep the area around it free of pesticides, and let a few seed heads stand into winter nearby. Within a season or two you will have a small, shaggy, humming landmark in the garden — proof that a pile of old pallets, bricks and garden prunings can be one of the most useful things you ever build.