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A day after his Newfoundland Liberals returned to power, Brian Tobin was still smiling.

David Kent is in a combative mood. Seated at the desk in his book-lined corner office, the 48-year-old president of Random House Canada, a Toronto-based publisher, is taking calls and returning messages from business associates and journalists.

Even Lucien Bouchard's glowering presence could not entirely sour the mood. In announcing a deal to overhaul the way Ottawa and the provinces work together on social programs, Prime Minister Jean Chrétien spoke proudly of "a new departure.

"I wasn't sure if he was running for leader of the party or president of Cuba," one Liberal backbencher whispered as Finance Minister Paul Martin wrapped up his one-hour, 20-minute budget speech to Parliament last week.

Gordon Wilson pushes open the screen door of his clapboard house, bearing groceries and a bouquet of roses - a dozen long-stemmed, ruby-coloured metaphors for love. "These are for you," he tells his wife, Judi Tyabji Wilson. "For Valentine's Day.

Caroline Armstrong is, in her own words, "an extremely organized person" - some might consider her a bit obsessive. Call it what you will, her attention to detail served her well during a 19-year career in customer service with Canadian Airlines.

After nearly a quarter of a century, the people of tiny, impoverished East Timor finally had the chance to say what future they wanted - independence, or staying a part of Indonesia. As a phenomenal 98.

There was not much time during Jean Chrétien's dash-in, dash-out visit to Cuba to get a long look at the physical and spiritual rubble of Fidel Castro's revolution.

There is no magic involved, but business is booming at Voodoo Computer Studio. In the computer store's lobby in Calgary, boxed monitors are piled high against the wall, ready to be delivered to what company president Rahul Sood says is a record number of customers.

The scene opens with Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer standing around at a party.

The grandfatherly American with thinning hair who addressed cancer scientists in a Montreal hotel earlier this month did not look like someone about to set off an international media frenzy. Dr.

The Rankins may have dropped "Family" from their stage name but, offstage, the word has taken on a new dimension.

On the Falls Road in the western precincts of Belfast, right in the heart of the city's Roman Catholic strongholds, there is an exclusive watering hole with a singularly appropriate name. They call the place the Felons' Club.

From the moment he first stood in the House of Commons in 1993 as a rookie MP and cabinet minister, Allan Rock claimed to be repulsed by the Kabuki ritual of parliamentary Question Period.

Long before New Brunswick Liberal cabinet minister Camille Thériault formally announced his bid for his party's - and the province's - top job on Jan. 26, his leadership ambitions were a badly kept secret.

Ol' Blue Eyes probably put it best himself, in that smoky voice with the smart phrasing. He was, quite simply, "King of the hill, top of the heap.

Even before the polls opened, the telltale signs of seismic change began to drift across Northern Ireland's rolling green hills.

The man is clearly frightened. Insisting on anonymity, he lowers his voice and lets loose a stream of criticism. As one of Canada's largest sellers of desktop computers, he rails against the "massive power" of Microsoft Corp.

With the exception of Nova Scotia, every province has tabled its 1998-1999 budget.

When the news finally came, hundreds of students occupying Jakarta's sprawling parliament complex wept, hugged and chanted: "He's gone, he's gone." They had brazenly defied the army, vowing not to leave until Indonesian president Suharto resigned. In the end, the old general gave way.