I have been under the attack of a terrible Denton Welch fever, ripping through every scrap of his writing that I can find, and I recently remembered a WOI article from a couple of years ago about Welch that had this photo of him seated before his arresting Georgian house:
Here it is, in the collection of the museum of childhood, which is part of the V&A in London:
He restored the house after finding it in the basement of a friend's family estate, and managed to determine its provenance and date, 1783. He was a great junk hound, and managed to find a pair of these 17th century angels, if memory serves, in some wildly modest place, like a car repair garage:
We were so clearly meant to be friends. I rail against our separate fates.
Apologies for the rough images -- there isn't very much material available relating to Welch.