When I can be bothered I'll sort for freaks & weirdo's (mis-shapen & funny looking ones) then weigh them into batches of weight groups. I'll then pour a batch into a paper bag ready to be torn open (my little nod to the black powder fella's) and tipped into my pellet pouch.
I'll then watch in amazement as a pellet defies the laws of gravity/ballistics when it ignores those laws at 45 yards and goes exactly where the centre of my crosshair is aimed to allow for the 45 yard drop. It's happend more than once and at different clubs.
"I wanna play cricket on the green, ride my bike across the stream, cut myself and see my blood, I wanna come home all covered in mud. I'm a boy, I'm a boy but my ma won't admit it..." I'm A Boy- The Who 1966