This morning, priests across the Philippines will tell their flock the qualities they should look for in their new president. Others may be favoured, but there will be no outright condemnation of a life that has yielded children to a string of women.

Mr Estrada's last appearance on Friday on the edge of a San Juan slum was the height of kitsch. Charismatic preachers waved to the skies as Whitney Houston blared from speakers. But, criticise as they do in the city's smarter quarters, no one is pretending it is not working.

His running mate, Egardo Angara, says he could see it all along. 'Joseph Estrada is a smart man. He knows how to be a leader. He has wisdom.' Behind him Mr Estrada - who has campaigned as 'Erap', 1960s street slang for 'buddy' - was breaking out in a slow grin beneath teddy-boy hair that glinted under the noon sun.

With his noisy breathing, pot belly and hooded eyes, he could be any 61-year-old Manila taxi driver.

But all around him his team of advisers - lawyers, politicos and leading businessmen - are working his ideas into policies.

For weeks he sounded like the vaguest of lefties, pledging to help the poor - the farmers, struggling sailors, policemen and dockers he portrayed at the height of his film career in the 1960s.

Now he talks about tax reform, market freedoms and still helping the poor.

It is still vague, but as soon as detail is needed, he gestures to one of his team.

'Agriculture must be improved . . . it is the core of our country,' he says, before someone in his entourage pops up to reveal that 70 per cent of the country live in rural areas and often in poverty.

Roads and irrigation will help bring their goods to market, add value and make exports more efficient, they say. Taxes on share transactions might be lifted to boost market capitalisation and pull more local money into the system, they add.

'For once the poor people will have a chance and a voice,' says Mr Estrada, and he is off again.

The traditional facade of campaign caution has slipped and all around him people talk of victory parties, landslides and how to manage his first few weeks in power.

The atmosphere could not have been more different the night before outside the General Post Office, where outgoing President Fidel Ramos was helping boost the last big Manila rally of his chosen successor, the stolid House Speaker Jose de Venecia.

Booming speakers, dancing and fireworks could not disguise Mr Venecia's sombre mood after the latest polls put him at the top of a list of 10 also rans - 18 percentage points adrift of Mr Estrada.

Mr Ramos had been on the streets in full campaign swing before dawn. His charge was still sleeping when he called him, reportedly infuriated, at 7 am.

Mr Ramos knows what is at stake more than anyone else and is keen to ensure his six-year legacy lasts after a debilitating 20 years of Ferdinand Marcos larceny.

After World War II, the country was considered a sure-bet for a bright future. By 1990, it was among the sickest in the region.

'We are growing, we are stable, we are free. We are slowly but surely getting rid of poverty,' Mr Ramos told the Sunday Morning Post.

'But more than anything else I am proud of the fact Filipinos are now holding their heads higher.' Now, it seems, Mr Ramos will only be able to watch as Mr Estrada embarks on a six-year term of office that is exceptionally difficult to break under the tough new constitution.

Indeed, how he leads and juggles his backers and vast team - a group that includes several top businessmen, former Marcos allies and anti-Marcos agitators - could be the making of his rule.

One of his first tests could be how he handles the frozen San Miguel shares held by his billionaire friend, Eduardo Cojuangco. The 17 per cent stake was frozen in 1986 over doubts about the legality of its acquisition.

After all, one thing that Erap's Filipino poor have learned to hate from the Marcos darkness is cronyism.