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If the tabloids had their way, this royal wedding would be remembered as the saga of Sophie's bared breast. It is a poignant story, even a little tawdry, about a bashful prince and a canny career girl.

Nothing special united the 217 people aboard EgyptAir's ill-fated flight 990. There were babies, teenagers and senior citizens; newlyweds and old married couples; doctors, pharmacists, journalists and lawyers; Christians, Jews and Muslims.

Admittedly, 57-year-old Duff Waddell is a man who embraces excess. Practically every morning he is up at 5:30, pulling on his jogging shorts and gulping a glass of orange juice before heading off for a one-hour run. By 8:15, he is in the small office where he practises real estate law.

Maj. Rod Babiuk picked up his brass abacus for a buck at a garage sale, while many of his colleagues at CFB Kingston hunted down wooden versions of the beaded counting machines. No, the army has not developed a sudden interest in ancient math.

This week, when Joe Wamback addresses the Commons committee reviewing proposed changes to the Young Offenders Act, he will tell the politicians about the horrific assault that almost killed his son last summer.

"Eightball" pulls back his long black hair, adjusts his balaclava and peers across the St. Lawrence River through his night-vision binoculars.

Grant Fahlman, 51, has lived his whole life on the farm 25 km southeast of Regina where his family settled when they came from Russia in 1889, and this year was the first in his memory that no burrowing owls raised their broods in his pasture.

No one knows exactly what the surface of Mars is like, but Robert Zubrin has a pretty good idea. At least some of it, he says, is much like a frozen, god-forsaken corner of the Canadian Arctic called Haughton Crater. The terrain is similar - rough-strewn rock on the floor of a crater 16 km across.

For Finance Minister Paul Martin, the question is not whether taxes should be cut, but by how much and how quickly.

It's a rare Saturday night off in the NBA. Time for the league's hot young blades to don their best duds, pop in the diamond stud and hit the clubs, right? Well, maybe not.

At first they thought it was a prank, the kind of crazy thing that students just a month from graduation might pull.

Most government leaders like to cloak themselves in the trappings of high office when they call an election.

It's Saturday night in a downtown Toronto club. The music is throbbing, cigarette smoke fills the air, drinks are being served as quickly as the waitresses can deliver, and singles scan the room for company. In other words, it's another night of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. But there's a twist.

The invitation was modest. Printed on plain white paper, it was billed simply as an evening to "learn how to cope confidently with cherry tomatoes." But for 60 smart QUEEN'S students, it was a clarion call.

On the newsprint wrapper in which the retooled Citizen arrived at the doorsteps of its 140,000 subscribers, Neil Reynolds, the brooding editorial wizard whom Black handpicked to direct the metamorphosis, laid out that agenda.

According to his friends and longtime political associates, there are two John Savages. The first is the private man, whom they describe as warm and compassionate, a doting grandfather, an affable golf companion.

She does not look like a circus freak or a monster or an omen of evil. Her eyes and ears have a pinkish hue - just like they are supposed to.

There is, first of all, the Worship House - a blue-roofed building that looks as though it could be the dwelling place of forest creatures in a Wagnerian opera.