BritNews RoundUp will return next week. Instead, I bring you this Italian video. It was produced by RAI, Italy's public television station, on the occasion of Wednesday's launch of its new Citizen Report citizen journalism Web site.

Since citizen journalism is what I studied during my boondoggle year in Oxford, they asked me to comment on the new project. Anyone out there speak Italian and can tell me what I said?

The folks who interviewed me (via Skype, over my Web cam!) are young and full of energy. And if the pace of that video is any indication, full of double espressos, too. Ciao!

The blood was on the footpath, three red splotches evenly spaced across the asphalt.

At first I thought it was juice, the contents of a sippee cup scattered on this popular suburban path by a toddler in a jogging stroller. But it was too red, a bright crimson. Then I noticed some to the right of path, down a bank and ending at Sligo Creek, red splotches every few feet in the leaves. My eyes traveled across the creek to the other side. There was blood there, too.

It must be an animal, I thought--a fairly big one given how much blood there was, each splotch the size of my hand. There's a golf course across Sligo Creek Parkway and the deer are numerous.

But what if it wasn't a deer? What if it was a person? Injured, shot, fallen off his bike, confused and stumbling through the woods? I could tell from the splatter pattern on the path that whatever was bleeding was headed south, away from the creek and the golf course. When I looked in that direction I saw more blood and a narrow track of disturbed leaves.

By this point my black lab, Charlie, had figured something was up. He's not the brightest bulb in the box but as we left the path he snapped to attention. He had found the blood and he buried his nose in it, almost flattening his chest against the ground. I kept him on a short leash.

The creature had fled south, its path as clearly blazed as a hiking trail. The red was jarring amongst the browns and yellows of an autumn leaf-fall. We came to an upended tree laying horizontally on the ground, its girth covered with moss. Drops of blood flecked the top. But on the other side, nothing. I scanned the forest floor then saw that the blood picked up again sharply to the right. Charlie was already pulling in that direction.

I stopped for a moment and thought. If a person was at the other end of the trail, would he appreciate my efforts? This was the quickest way to the backs of nearby houses, but what human would leave a paved trail in search of help? My mind flashed an image of a man slumped against a tree, his hands pressed to his stomach as blood seeped out between his fingers.

If it was an animal, might it be even less appreciative? Frightened by a dog and man bounding through the woods, would it turn and charge at us, its flight instinct suddenly transformed into fight?

I decided I had no choice but to go on. My own instincts had kicked in. I bent low to pass under some thin tree branches and followed the blood. I pulled at Charlie's leash, fearful he would lap at the crimson puddles.

Then, off to the right, I saw movement, a flash of taupe and the sound of cracking twigs. An antlered deer had risen from behind a large holly bush. It looked at us then bounded uphill towards the back yards of the neighborhood. It stopped, turned and looked at us again. It looked relatively uninjured but before it moved again I noticed blood on its back left leg. Charlie, still entranced by the bloody hoof prints in the soft soil, never saw it.

At least I knew where the blood had come from. I led Charlie back to the path and headed home. I called the park police and they promised to send an officer out to find the deer. It shouldn't be too hard. Just follow the trail.

Today: Delivering the mail through the ages. These images from The Post's photo archives show various advances in mail-delivery technology.

This photo, by the Harris & Ewing studio, is captioned: "Motorcycle postman (1912)." That looks like it's a Washington street, but which one?

The date is missing from this photo but from the car in the background I peg it at late 1920s, early 1930s. According to a handwritten note on the back, it's a railroad mailcar in Chesapeake Beach, Md. Note the carving on the building: Seat Pleasant Bank.

This International News Photo is from 1956. The caption: Arlington, Virginia...Under a new vehicle program, the Post Office Department is purchasing 1,000 scooters; 6,000 golf caddy-type carts and 2,000 more bicycles to speed mail carriers on their appointed rounds. Mailman Joseph Adams wheels an 85-pound load on one of the caddy-type carts designed to take the load off the carrier's back as he starts his rounds from an Arlington, Virginia, branch.

This photo, taken by The Post's Frank Hoy, is from 1957. This three-wheeled vehicle is apparently a Mailster and the letter carrier is William Harrison. The caption: "William Harrison says that the Mailster slows him down when he delivers in relatively congested areas where houses are close together."

Our final image is a bit kinky:

This is from 1962, taken by The Post's Douglas Chevalier. The caption: "Mailman Ward Cogswell tries out the new harness the Post Office Department is experimenting with the protect workers from injuries in case of motor accidents. It is designed to give him freedom of movement, yet prevent injuries."

Are you a retired letter carrier? Did you ever use any of these vehicles? Do you remember them coming down your street? Share your memories in the Comments section below.

Of all the problems our Metro system has had, here's one we haven't experienced: X-rated moans and groans broadcast over the PA system. That's what happened recently at an Underground station in London. According to the Daily Mail, "Transport for London confirmed that a broadcast of 'sexual noises' was heard through the speakers. It said the sounds had nothing to do with any of its staff and came from outside Tube property."

Said one commuter: "It was definitely a couple doing it there and then. He was grunting loudly and she sounded like she was having a great time. The driver must have heard it too, as the doors stayed open longer than usual." Officials think their loudspeaker system must have inadvertently picked up audio from a pornographic film someone was watching near the station. (Of course, this could happen on Metro but the PA is so awful, we'd never know it.)

I've never been sure what a Beefeater does exactly. They're the colorfully-costumed fellows who "guard" the Tower of London. I say "fellows" but in January 2007 the first female Beefeater--officially a Yeoman Warder--joined the staff. Sadly, some of Moira Cameron's fellow Beefeaters had a beef with her presence and, allegedly, made nasty comments about her on a Wikipedia page. An investigation is underway.

An Essex town's public clock was removed for repairs after it was vandalized. When the clock went back up, something wasn't right: The 7 and 8 were transposed on the face. Egads! What is the Rotary Club--the donor of the clock--going to do? We "had a good laugh about it last night," said one member, "and we decided to leave it at the moment because we think it will become a fascinating talking point. It may even become a tourist attraction."

If I was the skeptical sort I might think the town had done this on purpose, just to lure the sort of people impressed by a clock with the 7 and 8 transposed. If you should go, please be sure to sample the many fine amenities of Manningtree, including Mistley Towers, the Magic Wok takeaway and Curlews Bed and Breakfast.

File this under "oops": A South African man accidentally pulled the ejection seat handle while on a ride with that country's aerobatic team. He rocketed through the plane's canopy and was lucky enough to float down to earth relatively unharmed after his parachute opened. I imagine the pilot was not happy. According to the Guardian: "Passengers would have been briefed on the ejection sequence and warned that the 'loop' between his legs was not to be touched unless the pilot called 'Eject, eject, eject during the flight."

Casper is a cat. Casper's owner wondered where he would disappear to every day. Casper had a secret: He was addicted to crystal meth. No, just kidding. Casper was catching the No. 3 bus to Plymouth and back again. Watch this cute video from BBC News.

The next time you're stuck in a backup on the Beltway--which will probably be this afternoon--think back to Aug. 13, 1964. That's when this photo of a blissfully traffic-free Beltway was taken:

The photo was taken by a Post staffer named McNamee. The caption info on the back reads: Neil Moyer, 17, and Jimmie Hoffsinger, 17, pedal along the Capital beltway near a railroad overpass west of the Wash-Balt parkway. Official cars, construction workers and many bicycle riders are the only vehicles allowed on the road prior to its official opening.

The Beltway was officially opened four days later. There was a traffic jam.

I walked into a nature documentary while I was out with my dog this morning. I'd just bagged Charlie's poop and we were continuing on our perambulation when he bounded towards a squirrel. He doesn't actually chase squirrels much anymore--I think he decided that since he never catches them it's not worth the effort--but perhaps this one looked like a likely candidate for chasing. There was something of the victim about it.

Just as he broke towards the squirrel a massive bird swooped down to grab it in its talons. But it missed. Charlie had saved the squirrel, for by running towards it he startled the squirrel towards the safety of a nearby tree. The hawk's talons closed around empty air.

Or course Charlie was immediately surprised by the bird. He instantly forgot about the squirrel and barked at the hawk, which swooped up and landed on a high branch, cursing its luck. It was this close to breakfast and that stupid dog had ruined things.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed, too. I would like to have seen that hawk lift its prey off the ground and flap away with it. Maybe tomorrow.

"Garbo Speaks" were the headlines when Greta Garbo appeared in her first talking picture. Now we have "Snyder Speaks."

In a rare address to the press yesterday, the Redskins owner said that the team was "disappointed" and "embarrassed" by its 2-5 start. When asked what the fans must be feeling, Snyder said, “I see disappointment. It’s the same way I feel and I share their frustration. It’s hard. We’re going to try to put it together and get it going.”

He apparently did not offer his thoughts on all the extraneous stuff that's going on this season, such as the sign ban. He stuck to his message: We feel bad. We're disappointed. Interestingly, while Snyder said he felt sorry for the fans, nowhere did he say he was sorry. Unless I missed it, there was no apology.

Oh wait, he did say this: "And I think we have an opportunity the rest of the season to hopefully get it going. But to date, we've let everyone down -- including ourselves. We know that. We're just apologetic."

We're just apologetic. Is that the same thing as I apologize?

Play the Game Already
Did you see the story in The Post today about high school football teams being penalized when their players engage in on-field celebrations? Quite right, I say. Maybe that mindset will make its way to the NFL.

I'm sick of the showboating that goes on after even run-of-the-mill plays in the pros. A ho-hum tackle? The defensive player whoops it up like he's just ripped out Hitler's heart. There's one particular move some players seem to favor that drives me crazy: a squat, crablike strut in the middle of the field.

Do you do that at your job? When you finish auditing a company do you strike a pose? Do your co-workers all high-five each other after each e-mail or successfully-filed RFP?

I'm thinking of putting a canister of oxygen next to my desk at work so after I file a column--and run around the newsroom slapping my colleagues' butts--I can flop down and suck down some O2.

There is a file in the Washington Post photo archives marked "Homosexuals." Of course, I don't think we would label it that way these days. "Gays" or "Gay Rights" has a kinder ring to it.

What sort of photos are in the files? For starters, this one, taken on Pennsylvania Avenue NW during a gay rights march on October 14, 1979:

The photo was taken by Fred Sweets and the caption reads: A couple watches as the advocates of gay rights parade along the Avenue.

Hmmm. "Parade" along the avenue? Do I detect a slight condescension there? I suppose it's better than "swish," but what's wrong with "march"? Also, I don't know if you can see it, but there's a crop mark on the right, just below "We don't need laws for us." The layout person probably cropped that out so the photo would fit better, though it lessens the impact of the sign.

How far have we come in 20 years? Not so far that these issues don't still roil Americans.

Turning back the clock
You did remember to fall back Sunday morning, right? Speaking of which: Montgomery County schools don't have class today. I wonder if that's because they figured too many students would just arrive at the wrong time.

I'm an Oxford man myself so I can't say as I understand the way things work at the other university. The latest scandal to roil Britain's junior university is over co-eds posing suggestively for a student publication, or as the Sun puts it: "Cambridge girls in sexy pics row." The Telegraph is a little more restrained, though it doesn't miss the opportunity to include a photo (strictly PG-13, actually, and definitely SFW).

The Daily Mail poses a question I think we've all asked ourselves: "What sort of man spends 15 years building an oil rig from matches in his front room?"

David Reynolds of Southampton used 4 million matchsticks to create an exact replica of the Brent Bravo oil rig in the North Sea. It took him 15 years. "It's not my finest work," he told the Mail. "I was pretty happy with the drilling platform, but the rest's pretty basic - though I suppose that's how rigs are."

I would say that he needs to get a hobby, but I suppose he already has one.

Kylie Minogue is one of those British celebs who never quite catch on over here. I'm not even sure what it is she does--sings? models? builds matchstick oil rigs?--but I'm fascinated by the Daily Mail's coverage of her every burp and fart. This story is a good introduction to the Mail's Minogue-o-mania: "Kylie Minogue goes from off duty casual chic to on duty red carpet glamour."

If I'm reading it correctly, Minogue apparently was able to change out of jeans and flannel shirt and into a "nude colored origami shift dress." That's right. The superhuman Minogue is able to change her clothes. Not only that: She took off some glasses she was wearing. Not since Clark Kent/Superman have we seen a public figure shatter expectations with the simple removal of eyewear.

And that eyewear? The Mails says they were "a nod to celluloid star Harry Potter." Really? I thought they were a nod to existentialism star Jean-Paul Sartre. Or perhaps architecture star Le Corbusier. Or maybe costume star Edith Head.

And if I may pile on a little more: Nude-colored dress? Only if your skin is silver or gray.

Talk to Me
Don't forget to check in at noon for my weekly online chat. Pose a question/post a comment now or join me then.

Jody Taylor has joined that select group of people who got to attend their own funeral. I last saw the owner of the Black Rooster Pub at a huge wake at his L Street NW establishment on Oct. 16. After more than 35 years the bar was set to close, victim of a lost lease and the expansion of the Peace Corps, with whom the pub shares a building.

But Jody tells me the Rooster lives. With the help of D.C. Council member Jack Evans (and, I like to think, no small influence from this column), the bar is going to stay right where it is.

"I was able to come to terms with the landlord," Jody explained in an e-mail to me. "We will be able to stay and will reopen after approximately two weeks. Good time to do a thorough cleaning, polishing and dusting."

Don't dust it off too much, Jody! That's what we call "history."

Since I was there for the Rooster's "last" night, I hope to be there for its "first." If you see me there, let me buy you a drink.

Picked out your costume yet? I delved into The Post's photo archives to see what treasures were to be found. Maybe some of these ideas will inspire you.

This photo has no caption information other than PHOTO BY ELLIS and the note that it was shot on Oct. 29, 1961. It was obviously a time when boys wanted to be cowboys and girls wanted to be...what is that? A clown? I love the way the boys are "kissing" her. It's the last thing they want to be doing but the photographer has told them to.

The next two photos are from 1983 and were shot in Georgetown by Lucian Perkins.

The caption info reads: Blinky from the game Pac-Man crosses M st. in Georgetown under the watchful eye of a policeman.

I love how policemen always have "watchful eyes." Continuing the theme:

The caption info read: Karen Lozano (left) and Michael Williams spend Sat. night in Georgetown as Pacman and Ms. Pacman.

Those costumes obviously took some time to make. And I love Michael's socks!

Finally, here's a photo from 1990, snapped by Wayne Partlow for Reuters.

The caption: HALLOWEEN:FALLS CHURCH, VA, 31OCT90 -- Joan Mund (l), of Fairfax, VA, grips the neck of Ruben Lazano, 21, who sports a likeness of Iraqi President Saddam Hussein, October 31 in a Falls Church store. The Hussein mask is the latest and most popular in Halloween masks this year.

Who's the villain this year? Swine flu? Osama bin Laden? Balloon Boy's Dad? Dan Snyder? Enjoy your Halloween.